


A Single Thread

by Sonny



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comment Fic, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fic, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonny/pseuds/Sonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The same year has passed as at the start of S6, except Sam was re-souled in a completely different fashion where his "wall" was put back... wrong; Wracked by siezures and eventually falling into a coma, Sam has been taken care of by Gwen at her family's home; Sam is locked within his own mind and won't come out for anyone, still reeling from his days in Lucifer's Cage and the random memories of being Robo!Sam; The only person who can save Sam... is Dean, but not for the reasons most assume; Sam and Dean have a deeper bond that goes beyond brothers and family... they were once -- one soul...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Sam Week - Comment Fic Meme at ohsam : Sam's Wall comes down for whatever reason. This leads to seizures, followed by Sam in a coma. Cas is able to determine that the problem is Sam's soul is locked deep within his own mind, and is so badly damaged by the reintegration that he can't find his way out. Cas thinks that he will be locked in forever unless someone can guide him out. Dean asks Castiel to send him into Sam's mind (bonus points if this only works because Sam and Dean are soulmates!). Dean has to find his way through the Hell-scape of Sam's inner life to to find him and bring him home - from[info]cordelia_gray on Livejournal

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v163/sonnygrl/BeautifulOtherness/?action=view&current=ASingleThreadTitleName.jpg)

**A Single Thread...**

**Chapter One**

A whole year has passed... not one email... not one call... not a curt voice-mail or a short text message... not even a measly drive-by “how-you-doing?-fine-you?” knock on the door. Nothing.

Dean is way past pissed. He's biting back acid every day in the month of January of the new year. He's taking to looking at the sky these days when he wants to bitch or rant at Sammy. Where the fuck else is it going to reach him? By the end of January, Dean's pretty certain Sam is dead—long ago or he's recently bit the bullet. He's a little too numb to feel loss, a little too full of enraged confusion to feel much grief.

Sam is never late for anything, no matter what form he would show up in.

By the start of February, Dean has resolved in himself that this is going to be his life—this is going to be his family. Sam be damned. Ben and Dean are growing closer, like father to son, and Lisa is comforted in the fact that Dean no longer walks around like he's got somewhere else to be. Always having looked over his shoulder or stayed outside late at night like he expected some random car to drive up and for Sam to walk out. She hates that she's happy for Dean's misery, but at least this means they can start making plans for a real future.

The truth is... Dean isn't any better than he had been all last year. There's still a single thread of hope he's wrong about Sam and he clings to that more than solace any religion can offer him. He's able to mask his feelings and finds simple joy in a random moment of time. He fixates on things, then obsesses. His newest pleasure now is owning his own garage—something he knows Dad had only dreamed about. But he doesn't want to only “repair” cars, he wants to modify and restore them. If he can't fix himself or repair what's broken between he and Sam, he will focus on a project he _can_ complete.

So he watches a lot of how-to TV and buys magazines and books. He goes to the library to research. He's even taught himself how to utilize the Internet beyond the realm of porn. He eventually buys a laptop and he checks local real estate websites. He's even thinking about buying a clunker in order to use this as a model to support his new business, showcasing what his talents can do.

Dean also knows the only way he can find the money for his kind of start is to sell the Impala. He knows it's sacrilege to even think of letting go of his baby, but he's sure once the Impala is nowhere near his vicinity, then he might be able to move on. The only problem is there isn't any way he's seeing his baby unless it's to another collector—a genuine classic muscle car collector who knows their shit. And if that is his only avenue, Dean is aware he can't give it away “as is”. He hasn't even bothered to modify the trunk to look like the original trunk.

Now he's fixated on improving the Impala. Back to watching shows, buying magazines and books and he's putting everything he has left into this one task once he's given Lisa and Ben the attention they deserve. Lisa doesn't notice the addiction to obsession, too caught up in watching Dean being happy as he and Ben bond over the Impala's rebuilt engine—Dean will eventually work on the trunk on his own at night, but it's an excruciatingly slow process.

It's the week before February 14th—Valentine's Day... and there is way-too much love and sickeningly sweetness for Dean to stomach other people, even his neighbors. He notices Ben giving him sly, sheepish glances every now and again, like the kid knows something he doesn't. Dean hopes it's not a weekend getaway with Lisa because he's expecting a few parts for the Impala and he wants to get them on the schedule he's mentally tabulated in his head. Any set-back will mess with the bigger plan.

It's only Tuesday and Dean is seeing signs around the house like someone is going away for a few days; old luggage is brought down from the attic, Lisa's donating old clothes to the shelter she never wears anymore and Lisa's parents keep calling to speak to Ben. It's all a bit sneaky and underhanded, but Dean knows what's up and he'll catch Lisa later tonight and open a dialog with her that won't start off with him telling her to stop planning his life without his consent. He simply wishes, if she had wanted a Valentine's weekend getaway, that she would ask him—flat out, no bullshit—so he can feel better about saying, “ _hell no_ ”. Instead, now it's up to him to break her heart and be an asshole.

A Grade-A jerk, if you will.

Dean softly snorts a laugh to himself on a bittersweet memory, content in being home alone as he plans to spend the rest of his day in the garage. He still plays his cassette as he works, but now he's got a retro stereo with every generation media device capability in the last fifty years. Motorhead is blasting and Dean putters around singing along with Lemmy, doing an occasional “air-guitar” on a guitar-lick he loves. He wears dark blue coveralls over his real clothes and he's got an embossed name patch displaying “Winchester” over his left breast. He found an on-line company that did custom stitched designs, so there's a gun in the center of the name—but only Dean knows it's a colt. Just like the one Dean and Sam had to babysit all those eons ago.

Everything Dean uses in his garage at home will be what he uses in his own garage once he's bought the property. He can hear the phone ring in the house, but he knows after three rings—if the caller hasn't hung up already—it'll transfer into the garage. That's when Dean will answer—well, that is if he decides he _wants_ to answer.

The extension rings twice as Dean wanders over to turn down the volume on the music, then paces to the wall. Placing the handset between ear and shoulder, he trudges on with saying the first greeting, “y'ello?”

“Dean?”

Dean goes still. Bobby? “—yeah...” He's hesitant to say much else since he begged Bobby to _not_ call unless it was extremely important—life or death kind of shit.

“jesus... 'm sorry...” It's apparent Bobby isn't prepared to have this conversation.

“Spit it out.” Dean furrows his brow because starting off with a “sorry” is not a good sign. Better to do this slow and precise. “What is it?”

“I can't beat 'round the bush with you, boy. It's your brother.” Bobby suddenly recalls he has to clarify. “It's Sam.”

“Sam? Wha—?” Immediately, Dean frowns because if he knows Bobby well enough then he's stuck to his promise not to call, not calling Dean until it was too late or absolutely necessary. “Is he—dead?” It's a choke in his throat to even state the possibility or merely ask the question.

“No... but the poor kid might as well be.”

“I'm still not getting why I'm—”

“We need you, Dean. Sam— _needs_ you.”

“He's not dead, but he's— _exactly what is he, Bobby_?” Dean's a little miffed because Bobby has placed a call to him, but can't seem to spit it out, plain and simple.

There's a click like another line has been picked up, then a voice clears. “Dean...”

“Castiel?” Dean rolls his eyes heavenward and purses his lips in slight annoyance. “Well... long time no pray, huh?”

“Dean...” Castiel's gravely voice reverberates through the line, still sounding droll and monotone. “Bobby's right. In order for Sam to get better... he will need you.”

“Figures.” Dean snorts out a snicker. “The first call I get from him has _me_ the one crawling back to _him_.”

There's utter silence, not even the sound of a throat moving or background noise.

Castiel's voice returns with the same evenness, “It's not his fault. It's out of his control.”

“ _What_ 's not his fault?”

“A month ago, Sam would have been on your doorstep.”

“What stopped him?” Dean is walking around his garage, his free arm flailing up and down as he rattles off all the choices. “Cold feet? Stage fright? The jitters or the heebie-jeebies?”

“You lost me. I don't know what those are, Dean.”

Bobby clears his throat to break through and control the conversation, also to volley the dialog in case Dean plans on going off in a rage. Hell, he's entitled. “It just means Dean's askin' if Sam was scared.”

“oh...” Castiel clears his throat. “Sam got his soul back, but it—”

There's some muttering, hands over the mouth-pieces as Bobby and Castiel have a conversation off-the-line. Dean yanks the extension away from his ear and stares down at the hard plastic like he can't fathom what he's hearing on the other end.

Castiel is the one who returns and it sounds like Bobby is “coaching” him through the words. “uh, my apologies, Dean, I didn't know.”

“What do you mean ' _Sam got his soul back_ '?... when the fuck did he ever lose it?”

“Dean... i's Bobby again.... jus'...” Bobby's voice keeps coming in and out of the line, like he's trying to do something else while talking on the phone. “I don't know how much I need to stress to you how important it is you haul ass back here an' help your brother. There's too many details to say over the phone. Can't tell you the short version 'cuz there is none.”

Dean closes his eyes, realizing he has a possible “out” for this coming weekend, if Lisa is planning some Valentine outing. He knows this will probably piss off Lisa even more than he would've pissed her off with his prior lame excuse. “Fine. I'll leave here as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Bobby nearly speaks off a heavy sigh of relief.

“Yes... thank you very much, Dean.” Castiel hangs up first, rather rudely.

Dean has to pull the phone from his ear as it sounds like Castiel slammed the extension down on its cradle. “Meet at your place, Bobby?'

“Please. It'll be easier than trying to explain to you where Sam exactly is now.”

“I'll see you soon, then.”

“Later, son.” Bobby hangs up with an awkward silence and then a “click”.

Dean looks down at the phone in his hand and promptly throws it against the wall, watching the hard plastic explode into tiny pieces.

~~&&~~

Dean throws the last of his bags into the backseat of the Impala when Lisa pulls into the driveway. He was about to hop into the car, fitting himself behind the wheel in his usual spot and put a barrier between he and Lisa; he's not ready for this confrontation. He'll look like a chump if he climbs behind the wheel now. He'll stay outside, leaning back on the bodywork and tuck his hands in his jacket pockets. He'll wait for her to approach him; he's going over in his mind what to say to her. He's not going to lie, but he won't tell her the whole truth; she doesn't need to know _every_ detail. Lucky for him, Dean doesn't know many details either.

Lisa wanders around the hood of her car, arms crossed and purse straps danging off her arm. She squeezes her keys in the palm of one hand. “What's _this_?” She gestures with her chin toward the Impala being out and ready to drive. She knows _what_ it is, but not _why_ he dug it out to drive away in it.

“Bobby called.”

“yeah— _and_?” Bobby calls Dean about as often as Dean calls Bobby. Lisa doesn't like where this is heading.

“He needs me...” Dean waits a beat. “—on a case.”

“So you just... pick up and run?” Lisa narrows her eyes on Dean, wondering why he won't look at her for long stretches of time. “Bobby was only the messenger. This has to do with something else—or _someone_ else.”

This time Dean feels safe enough to turn around and open the driver's door. “I left a note inside for you and Ben on the table, along with some cash. I don't know how long Bobby will need me.”

“Were you just gonna leave if I hadn't come home early?”

“I'm sorry.” Dean holds onto the door. “I have to go. I'm running late as it is.” He somberly climbs behind the wheel, starts the engine and doesn't even spare a glance at Lisa or the house as he drives away. He fumbles above his head for his shades.

The sun is setting, but that's not why he needs them.

~~&&~~

Bobby paces outside the room, periodically looking through the slight two-inch opening of the bedroom door to catch sight of Sam's state.

The door is yanked open and Gwen Campbell walks out.

Bobby jumps back a few inches. “How is he?”

Gwen rubs her palms together as she stuffs them into her biceps while crossing her arms. “Restless. He had a bad one last night. He was 'on' for almost twenty minutes.”

“That can't be good.” Bobby's been pacing outside this room like an expectant father. He knows he must look a fright idiotic.

“No, it's not.” Gwen tucks her hands in the front pockets of her jeans. “He should be dead with that kind of seizing. It's a neural-electricity thing.” She gestures circles around her own head to demonstrate where it's hitting Sam. “It's frying his brain from the inside out.”

“Christ almighty.” Bobby paces further down the hallway, almost reaching the railing of the staircase to the first floor. He retraces his steps to walk up to Gwen, rubbing his head over the back of his neck. “I'd like to strap Samuel to my old barn generator—see how he likes it.”

“While I share the same sentiment... it does Sam no good.” Gwen gives Bobby a sad smile, then shrugs her shoulders as she has no answers for all of the questions Bobby's eyes keep asking her. “We need to get something— _someone_ —in there to get him out. The longer he stays, the more difficult it'll be to reach him.”

“Well, Dean's on his way. Though coldly tag-team calling him like that with Castiel really didn't go over like I'd hope.”

Gwen leans back on the door-jamb, her forehead wrinkling in thought. “How long's it take him to get here?”

“From Lisa's?... he should be here by late tonight, if he left like he said he would.” Bobby starts to point in the air, like he means outside this house. “But he's goin' directly to my junkyard. I didn't want him to get lost trying to find this place.”

“Then you'll bring him right over?” Gwen lifts a lone eyebrow in curiosity.

“I don't know. We'll see.” Bobby scuffs his shoes on the floor, then wanders toward the wall and leans his left side along a paneling. “Dean didn't even know Sam was runnin' 'round without a soul.” He shakes his head, wiping a weary hand over his eyes. “I have a feeling my voice is gonna be hoarse attemptin' to fill him in.”

“Is there a possibility he'll refuse?”

“That's the thing I hate not knowing.” Bobby frowns, then motions to the door. “Can I go see him.”

“Sure, but be a little extra quiet tonight. He's responding to voices, but I don't think it means anything. Wires are crossing in his head so he may do something weird or inappropriate.” Gwen opens the door to let Bobby in. “I've turned him on his side for the next few hours. If he gets restless again, then flip him on his back—well, you know the drill...”

“Keep him comfortable at all times.” Bobby rattles off the words like they were an unwritten rule he knew Gwen upheld with her own routine she had going for Sam.

Gwen watches Bobby step to the bed; she feels her heart clench a little at the emotional upheaval etched on the grizzled features. “Have you eaten, Bobby?”

“uh, yeah...” Bobby has to stop, clench a hand on the foot-board of Sam's bed. “—made some soup on the stove top all day, then ate the other half of my sandwich from lunch.”

Gwen can tell Bobby doesn't know what to do next or what to even say when Sam lays unconscious and unmoving like that. Bobby is used to the poor kid being awake and towering over him. She doesn't want to leave the room yet, just hangs out near the doorway. “Did you find anything in your research?”

“A few hits.” Bobby looks a bit relieved that Gwen keeps him company so he's not alone with Sam so quickly. “Seems like reputable folk. One is board-certified. We really need someone who's a little more open-minded.”

“Well, if you need me for anything, you know where I am.” Gwen grabs the doorknob on the way out to shut the paneling as she leaves, entering the hallway. But a sudden glance toward Sam renders her still and she stares rather longingly.

“Yes. I do.” Bobby watches her look fondly toward Sam, then down at the floor. “Do you miss it?”

“What? Nursing?'

“No. Hunting.”

“I thought I would because I've been doing it almost as long, but... despite the circumstances, I feel a peace settling in.” Gwen shoots two fingers from one eye. “I can focus on one thing, one purpose. I had thought about working for a nursing home or doing hospice care, when I burned out at the hospital before I started runnin' with Samuel. This gives me a bit of an idea of what life would've been like.

Bobby can't tell Gwen often enough how indebted they'll be to her for what she's traded her life for. “Sam appreciates what you give up for him. We all do.”

“He's family... he's a Campbell.” Gwen gives a lop-sided smile. “He's a part of Mary. I can't walk away from that.” Finally, she closes the door, leaving Bobby alone with Sam

Bobby hesitates as he nears the bed. It's tough to see Sam like this. He can't even look at Sam when he's laying in bed with his back turned. It gets worse when Bobby rounds the Invicare bed-frame and he hears the signature whirs and blips of the bed's mattress moving beneath Sam, like it's breathing while Sam is unconscious. There's a simple nasal cannula under Sam's nostrils only because there are times he loses oxygen while seizing and there's a pulse oximeter on his right index finger to count his oxygen levels. They're better than they have been.

Bobby grabs onto the railing as he walks further up the frame and he can see the shadows of Sam's face and head pressing into the white pillowcase. Sam no longer has his long brown locks. When the Campbells found him, after the demons had their use of him, the hair had been tangled, matted with blood and patches were missing. Once they had cleaned Sam up, they had shaved his head, dressing him in his own clothing before throwing him on Bobby's porch. It was a striking look for Sam, after years of that shag, unruly mop of hair, but because of his seizures it was best to not have the hair there. Just in case they needed to get to any areas of his brain. To heal some of the scars from injury, the head had first been wrapped in bandages, but now that the wounds were healed over, Gwen had brought in thin cotton skull-caps for him to wear to keep the head warm. Sam has a sharp new look Bobby was trying to get accustomed to.

Bobby touches the top of the hand first. Gwen had propped enough pillows around Sam that his right hand dangles over the railing. Still so warm, so soft... belieing the fact that Sam hasn't opened his eyes in weeks. The fingers begin to twitch—this must be what Gwen warned him about—and Bobby furrows his brow, then places his whole arm under Sam's hand to watch what he will do.

“Hey, Sam... i's Bobby...” Bobby pauses and watches as the hand starts to move, sliding up and down his forearm, then landing dead center to simply grip. All this time, Bobby keeps his eyes on Sam's face, never seeing a conscious acknowledgement. He tries to smile but it's weak. He reaches out with his right hand to lay it over Sam's head. He bends near to speak in an ear. “Got some good news for you.” Bobby senses the hand move on his arm again. “... your brother's on his way— _Dean's comin'_...” The hand shifts, moving down to Bobby's wrist and tries to grasp his fingers. Bobby allows the action to happen, feeling the squeeze of reassurance—like Sam understands. “Good boy... you hear me, dontcha?” He doesn't kiss the skin as much as presses his cheek to the brow and speaks whispery quiet. “... _Dean's on his way... he's comin' to get you out..._ ”

~~&&~~

The words said like a mantra in the outer walls of Sam's brain reverberate like an echo throughout his entire body.

The little boy goes to the window and opens a paneling to let in cool air. If he closes his eyes, he can hear those words vibrate through him— _Dean's coming... Dean's on his way_. It puts a bittersweet smile on his young face because he knows it means very little to the long night ahead that awaits him.

As he begins to grab the latch to shut the panel, a voice from the bed cries out in a weakened state.

“— _please_... leave it open... that breeze feels nice...”

The little boy wanders over to the bed-table and wrings out another cloth to wipe the feverish brow. “I'll leave it open for now, but once it gets too cold I'm shutting it.”

“oh-kay... thank you.” A tongue sticks out to lick dry lips wet. “Where am I?”

“My room.”

“Feels empty. Are we alone?”

“Yes. We're left alone most every night. They... leave you alone, so I can take care of you.”

A hand moves around on the thin mattress. “I'm on a bed. Is this _your_ bed?”

“Yes, but I let you have it every night.”

“Why?”

“—'cuz you're not able to take care of yourself.”

“Why not?” The head shuffles around on the pillow unable to see too well in the dark. “Hello? You still there?” He calms down when he feels a hand pressed to his chest—a tiny hand, but it's comforting. “—my god... you're just a kid...”

“I'm— _you_.”

“huh?”

“Your name is Sam Winchester. Do you remember what happened?”

“No.” Sam shakes his head rather adamantly, but he can't recall much at the moment. Except that his name is “Sam”.

“You don't remember how you got—hurt?”

“No, uh... wait... I'm _hurt_?”

“Yes. It changes every night, Sam.”

“What happened to me tonight?”

“You don't feel it yet?”

“No, not really—not...” And then suddenly as Sam switches his mind on to see if he can feel _something_ , it's like his whole body ignites in one flame of intense pain. The pain shoots sparks and airborne flares trigger every nerve-ending inside his body. He cries out in agony, arcing off the mattress and then shivers from the cold.

Little Sam rushes over to shut the window, then returns to open the drawer of the bed-table to pull out the endless amounts of pain pills he keeps finding inside. “I'm gonna give you some pills that stop the pain.” He picks up the glass of water with the straw poking out the top, then offers them to Sam. “Open... please...”

When Sam settles down a little, still shivering and shaking, he opens his mouth to feel the cheap plastic bendable straw coming at his mouth; he sips at the cool liquid to refresh his dry throat. A hand attempts to feed him the pills; he keeps them on his tongue as he takes another long swallow. “— _ohgod-ohgod-ohgod_... wha-? Wha's going on? Where am I? Why can't I see where I—?”

“ssshhh... all in due time, Sam.” Little Sam's hand moves to cup around the huge shoulder joint. “Calm down. Let the medicines work for you.”

“I'm not—I don't...” The pills work fast when they're imaginary. Sam quiets and tries to lift his arm to touch his face. He feels the tape first, then the one gauze pad over his right eye. “Am I blind?”

“No. They poured boiling water over your eyes—while they were open.”

“Jesus... wha—? What else—what else did they do to me?”

“It would be a shorter list to say what they _didn't_ do.”

“— _oh god_...” A hand moves across his chest to his other arm and he senses no limb below the mid-biceps. “...they-they took my arm?”

“They shredded it, while breaking the bones permanently. You tore it off yourself, since it was useless.”

“... fuck...” Sam shakes his head on the pillow, his covered eyes stare at the ceiling. “Who—? Who are they? What are they—? Why are they doing this to me?”

“They aren't, not really. None of this is happening. You're not really hurt, you just think you are.”

“If none of this is real then how come I feel— _everything?_ ”

“Your time in The Cage was traumatic, to say the least—some of the worst suffering one human can endure or has endured.” Little Sam tries to change the tones of his voice to not sound monotone, because he has to tell the same story every single night. “Above ground, your body walked with no soul for a year. Demons were able to use you for nefarious purposes once they brought your soul back, but they went about it improperly...”

“Am I dead above ground?”

“You might as well be. You aren't Sam—not the Sam everyone knows. And you aren't the Sam you were without a soul.”

“I'm— _nothing_?”

“You're actually quite a broken fall-down mess... but it's not your fault.”

“So... is this _all_ I do— _torture myself_?”

“Tomorrow morning... you'll wake up like it's a normal day... you'll be kidnapped and taken back to The Cage where you'll conjure up all the various ways they traumatized you.” Little Sam stands at the bedside, diligently at the ready for anything Sam might need. Even if it's a simple hand to hold. “I'll spend all day looking for and finding you, then I have to make an effort to reach you and bring you back here where it's safe to nurse you back to health...”

“So in a few hours— _what_? I'll be myself again?”

“Sure.” Little Sam shrugs his tiny shoulders. He never knows what to say when Sam asks him these questions. “If you want to think of it that way. But you still aren't you because you're here, locked inside your mind on a random loop of horrendous violence being done to you.”

“... and not above ground.”

“Exactly.”

“How do we fix me—bring me topside?”

“Well, I've done all I can do.” Little Sam feels comfortable enough at this point that he can sit on the side of the mattress, butting up against Sam's body. “I do my part by finding you and tending to you once I reach you. I don't really have the time or the energy left to figure out what to do beyond this point to get you back in your body.”

“Who will know what to do? Is there anyone coming to help?”

“There is.” Little Sam can't help, but contain his happiness and inner joy. “He'll be here soon, I hope. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Who? Do I know him?”

“ _Dean._ ” Little Sam smiles wide, but shyly in anticipation. “ _Dean's on his way._ ”

Sam wrinkles his brow in deep perplexity. “I'm sorry... I don't know who that is...”

~~&&~~

A year hadn't changed Bobby's salvage yard, so it's a nice coming home for Dean to pull up and find the same junked cars lining his path along the way. He feels that Bobby won't be anywhere else but inside his house, so he parks as close as possible. He is on his way to the front door when he hears Bobby's drawl from the barn-garage area.

“ _Dean! Over here!_ ” Coming back from visiting Sam had put Bobby in a tailspin. It always unsettled him, made him want to hunt down Samuel Campbell and bust his head in for what he'd allowed to happen to his own grandson. Bobby has decided to take Dean to see Sam tomorrow but during the early morning hours. He just isn't sure how Dean will react to a lot of things he'll learn today.

Dean climbs down the stairs, retracing his steps to walk past the Impala. “It's late. I thought you'd be inside.”

“Can't sleep these days.” Bobby's gestures to the spotless condition of the Impala. “She looks good.”

Dean proudly glances back to the Impala and her near-mint condition. “yeah—I'm working on restoring her.”

“oh...” That doesn't sound good to Bobby. Dean never much cared before about how the Impala looked to a collector's eye, simply doing the typical upkeep to sustain her running.

Dean approaches Bobby, but is unsure to what exactly he should do. Was a hug too informal? Would a handshake piss Bobby off, making him think Dean was distancing himself from this old life? Dean thinks he'll let Bobby steer this greeting.

Bobby watches Dean wander over to him and immediately he wants to break down and sob into the kid's arms. There was an unwritten rule about Winchesters that you never take your eyes off Sam, even when he was younger and they weren't aware of his demon blood—Sam was the good one, the one to save beyond all others. Bobby feels like he's failed—failed John and Dean. “Wanna beer?” He really doesn't want to touch Dean right now. Too much of a risk. Keeping the distance might seem cruel or rude, but it's the only way to do this without completely falling apart.

Dean isn't prepared for the total _lack_ of greeting. This puts him on edge, but then again a year of little-to-no contact might have put Bobby on the defensive. Dean had asked for no calls unless it was important because he didn't want to hear about anything related to hunting nor did he want people to keep asking him about Sam. “uh, yeah... that'd be awesome...” Dean follows Bobby into the garage, catching sight of the Dodge Charger (new model year) on one side of the building. “whoo-hoo! Did you lose a bet, Bobby?”

Bobby brings the beer over to Dean and then knocks their bottles together. “Nah, I'm keeping it for Sam.”

The bottle pauses at Dean's lips as he raises an eyebrow. “Sam's car? Sammy bought a Dodge?”

“He leased it, for three years.” Bobby sets down the beer to pick up where he was before Dean interrupted him. It keeps his back to Dean—thankfully. “I just ain't found the time to bring it back to the dealership. Plus... I don't know what the situation'll be like in another few weeks. I guess I been holdin' on to it so he has somethin' to get around in.” He shakes his head at his own foolishness. “Wishful thinkin'...”

Dean frowns as he turns to face Bobby. “I take it Sam's not here—in your house?”

“Nah...” Bobby grabs for the pair of pliers and start to loosen a bolt. “... I've learned he's better off where he is.”

“—and where might _that_ be?”

“A cousin of yours. On the Campbell side.” Bobby throws the information over his shoulder, not wanting to see the stunned look on Dean's face. “Her name is Gwen.”

“You mean Samuel Campbell, right?” Dean wants to make certain he's heard right.

“uh, yeah...” Bobby's tone sound like he said “duh”, then he squints in Dean's direction. “Do you know other Campbell-s who'd be related to you?”

Dean slams his beer down. “You got Sammy in the hands of a Campbell? What the hell are you thinking?!”

“ _Whoa-whoa-whoa!_ ” Bobby spins with both hands raised in his defense. “Before you get your panties all in a bunch, princess!... stompin' aroun' here like you're some big shot hot-ass... Sam's been with Gwen _for a year_.”

“What?” Dean can't even fathom what that even means.

“When you two split...” Bobby can hear the echo of his own voice inside the building, so he turns his volume down. He doesn't want Dean to think he's angry at him. “... Sam went to find family an' started picking up hunts from there. Gwen had been running with your grandfather for quite a long while.”

“What in the world would've possessed Sam to—?”

“This was Sam with no soul... no conscious...” Bobby is raising his voice again to speak up for Sam. “... he walked away from jumping into that hole with Adam and he was still all there, just... not the same Sam you've known your whole life.”

“You saw _him_?”

“Barely. I heard about him—heard the Campbells had a new hunter... a good one—probably the best anyone had ever seen, and soon it was rumored it was a grandson. I already knew where _you_ were, so it had to be Sam.”

“Gwen? Why her? I've never heard of her.”

“mmm... not surprised.” Bobby sighs out a long weary breath. “She's a good woman, Dean. A strong one, like your mother was. Or had to be.” He leans back on his worktable. “She used to be a registered nurse. Some combat military training too. You should bow at her feet she was around when the Campbell-s found Sam. She's been caring for him since he was—literally—dropped on my porch.”

“I'm still not clear on a lot of things. How, exactly, is she the right person to take care of Sam?”

“I'm not sure of the full story—even Gwen feels like she's been lied to. But... they were gonna use Sam as bait to trap some demons they were hunting, only... Samuel had a back-up plan in case the situation got out of hand.”

“whoa-whoa! Wait a god-damn minute here!” Dean puts out one hand for Bobby to stop talking. “Samuel... is alive?!”

“oh, yeah...” Bobby keeps his eyes down, feeling ashamed. “He's been... resurrected.”

“Well, great. Isn't that—swell.” Dean shakes his head and starts pacing; he's fuming from the inside out. The longer he stands here, not with Sam, the more incensed with frustration he's getting.

Bobby waits, then feels like after a while he can go on, “Samuel had struck a deal with them to trade Sam for—I don't know... some stronger leads on guaranteed kills that mattered. I suppose it's like _kill the lot to save a few_. Seems the demons had good use for Sam except... without a soul he was uncooperative, refusing to comply... there was no negotiating with Sam. Then one of them gets the bright idea to 're-soul' Sam—if that's even a word...”

Dean stops pacing, then pinching his mouth and chin. “—and a demon ain't gonna go by the book if he wants something desperately enough.”

“No, he ain't. See... I been readin' up on this whole soul business and it's more mystifying than hunting supernatural entities has become. Cas helps out here and there when we can reach him, ancient translations and such, but... there's this delicate way you have to put the soul back into its original vessel. So delicate that there's this, uh... let's call it a 'wall'...” Bobby gestures with one hand to show a “wall”, then the other hand becomes anything else he needs to explain his facts. “... and that wall gets built as the soul re-enters to keep out every bit of the heinous stuff the no-souled body did for however long it existed. Plus it protects the soul from wherever it returns from. Usually Hell, Purgatory... whatever. For Sam, it was Lucifer's very cage. An' somethin' tells me it wasn't no Disneyland adventure.”

“Jesus...” Dean runs a hand over his face to sift fingers through his hair. “... did they find the soul themselves and try to chant scriptures or some shit in order to command it back in?”

“They may have but if they can't reach the soul then it's no harm to the vessel. Apparently, the no-souled Sam could, uh... heal or at least the demon powers were stronger than ever without needing actual demon blood. They could've found themselves some-other-such wanna-be profit who thought he had the power of touch with souls.” Bobby starts to lean on one elbow, on the table's surface, and grabs for his beer to take a quick sip to wet his throat. “I wouldn't put it past any demon to do the shittiest job they could in the shortest amount of time to get what they wanted.”

“Without Sam's soul... he's just a demon...”

 

“He WAS Sam, Dean. He had his memories of you and your Dad, of himself.” Bobby knew he might have to do this—sticking up for Sam and the no-souled Sam. “It wasn't like he was happy with who he'd been, by any means, but he knew and understood. The soul is... well, it makes us who we are. The essence of Sam was gone, but he was all there. He had no feelings, cared less about people around him who he fought beside. This is stuff Gwen's been revealing to us. She almost calls him a 'robot'. He wasn't cold to touch or nothin', just... _not_ Sam.”

“So these demons they, uh...” Slowly but surely, Dean's starting to understand this situation. “... finally found an 'in'?”

“Yeah... apparently Death is the only one who can reach the soul to keep it perfectly intact, put it back in its rightful place, building that ole wall. Even then, there is no guarantee that wall's stable enough to withstand both sides pounding on it. Eventually, they half-ass the whole she-bang an' get Sam's soul back... he's in his body for a while but—and this is where it gets hazy on details... but we assume they had use for Sam to say 'yes' to something. They must've tortured him for days to get him to turn finally and—for whatever purpose he was useful for—they got what they wanted and dumped him back into Samuel's camp. They still wanted Samuel to hold up his end of their deal, but they refused to keep Sam anymore.”

“How was he then?”

“Hangin' on by a thread. Gwen said she was gone on a hunt for a few days, came back and there was Sam, but...”

“But— _what_?”

“She said Samuel was highly suspect of Sam—like he was sent as a decoy, re-souled or not. So he... he took him to their 'cage', which is really like a prison holding cell. No bed... the clothes he wore when he was caught... his damn dignity stripped bare. The whole Campbell camp thought he'd turned animal, but it was him in pain. Gwen couldn't stand it any longer and brought Sam out herself. Sam had lucid moments off and on, but he would collapse and seize... blackout and lose stretches of memory. He was out of focus... short term memory... just—his brain goin' haywire on him. Then one day they took Sam away, drove him out here to my place and left him laying on the cold dirt.” Bobby points somewhere over near the Impala. “I woke up the next morning and found him—no idea what the hell was goin' on. Sam wasn't... cooperative... he was combative and... all he knew was fighting and struggling so he wouldn't let anyone close. I summoned for Cas and—jesus, at least I had to find a way to give Sam some rightful peace. A 'blessing' was placed on him—don't know what that means for inside his addled brain but it calmed Sam down some, so we could get to him.”

“Take me to him... now!”

“But I was just... he's restin' an' you can't...” Bobby doesn't know how to explain this delicately that Sam isn't “there”. “... there's nothin' we can do for him, Dean. Not at this very moment.”

“There is something we can do... get off our lazy asses and try to figure out how to help Sam...” Dean threw his hands upward in defeat. “You know me, Bobby... I can't be sittin' around here with my thumb up my butt while Sammy's miles away suffering.”

“Hey, boy! What in tar-nation do you think we've been doin'? I'm not dragging nothin' from my ass and I sure as hell ain't been sitting aroun' with my thumb up my butt...”

“I know, I know... I'm sorry...” Dean places a hand over his eyes then slides it up his brow. “... but I'm not gonna be able to rest knowing Sam's out there. If you don't take me, tell me where she lives so I can ride out to her. I'll do this myself.”

“Okay... fine. But I ain't gonna guarantee she won't yell at you for disturbin' Sam's sleep. She's had it rougher than any of us, taking care of Sam. It's a thankless job what she does an' I don't want you to flounce on in there and make her feel like she's a piece-of-shit Campbell. Just 'cuz she's related to Samuel don't make her exactly like him.” Bobby's already walking out of his garage ready to go to his truck. Keys are always in the sun-visor. “Just like you an' Sam aren't!”

“All right, I won't.” Dean trails behind Bobby, then pauses beside the Impala, pointing toward Bobby's truck. “Should I ride with you or follow?”

 

“Follow me. I have a feeling you'll wanna stay with Gwen, now that you're here, to be near your brother. Trust me, I understand more than you know.”

 **~~ &&~~&&~~&&~~...tbc...~~&&~~&&~~&&~~**


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
**A Single Thread**   
  


  
  
**Chapter Two**   
  


 

Gwen is curled up in her sitting room, doing some mending with her bifocals on. She watches TV at a low volume with a lone lamp on, drinking her cinnamon tea. Hearing the knocking instead of the doorbell puts her on an alert. She picks up her .45 and sticks it in the back of her waistband and picks up her shotgun from the umbrella stand in the hall.

“Who is it?!” Gwen doesn't bother using the peep-hole anymore; what's the point when humans forms aren't always human?

“ _It's Bobby, Gwen! An' Dean!_ ”

Gwen puts the shotgun away and quickly moves to the door to undo the locks. She opens the paneling and smiles at Bobby. “Hey... what are you doing here so late? I thought you said you'd bring him tomorrow morning?”

Bobby shrugs as he steps over the threshold where a layer of salt sits and he points back to Dean. “Careful where you step.”

Dean makes it over the salt-line then looks at the woman who's been watching after Sam. She's probably closer to Bobby's age than Dean's and she's not that spectacular to look at. Brown hair, dark eyes, pale and gaunt skin; she's petite but she looks capable and tough as nails. She would have to be to hunt alongside Samuel for so long. “Hi... well, good evening.”

“You must be Dean.” Gwen isn't prepared for such a strikingly good-looking man. He has Mary's blonde locks, though darker and bluntly cut to his scalp. Those green eyes keep searching around as if looking for something— _someone_. “He's upstairs.”

Dean appears to be feeling some guilt. “I'm sorry. I haven't seen him in over a year.”

“I know. You're anxious... sad, but excited. But you're here and I have him on a routine at night. I don't like to sway from it.” Gwen checks her watch. “I'll be looking in on him in a half-hour.” She walks down the small hall that leads into her kitchen and dining area. “You two are more than welcome to join me. For now, can I interest either of you in some coffee?... a beer?... something to eat? I still have some leftovers from dinner.”

“I'll have that coffee, Gwen.”

“I will as well.” Dean scratches at the back of his head, smoothing down the hairline.

Bobby clears his throat, glancing at Dean. “I won't be goin' up with you to see Sam. I was here only a few hours ago. He's seen me already.”

Dean turns to watch Gwen wander around her kitchen. “Can he, uh... feel us... sense us, when we're around?”

“It's easier to understand when we get up there. His mind is fried or in the middle of being fried.” Gwen moves to the dish-drying rack next to her double sink and pulls off two mugs. “If it were anyone else, I think he'd be drooling and on life support. I don't know how to explain exactly what he is.” She stands at the coffee maker and takes out the glass pot to pour out the coffee in each mug. Then she reaches into a drawer to find some spoons. “Parts of him are awake—inside his brain, I mean. He'll respond like he's alert and upright, but he's still unconscious.” As she sets the mugs down on the island in the middle of the kitchen, sliding each cup toward a designated man, she also makes the sugar and some powdered creamer available. “From what the scans of his brain have shown, he's using parts all the time. Other times, wires cross and switches get turned on and he hibernates—going completely unresponsive or he seizes.”

“And what do you do?” Dean puts a little bit of sugar, but now cream.

“The only thing I can do, let him ride it out.” Gwen picks up a mug for herself, which is weird since she has tea in the other room. She needs the jolt of caffeine. “We've tried several seizure medications, but they only aggravate him. He seems to have something inside of him that helps him fight. What we see as him having seizures is something entirely different in his mind.”

“Docs think it's like a 'ghost pain'—like a, uh... phantom limb pain” Bobby tucks his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “Sam's been to Hell and back... to Lucifer's Cage and back, actually. There's butt-loads of things he did as non-souled Sam repressed too.”

Gwen nods her head in agreement, then pours sugar and enough creamer in her coffee to turn it light tan. “—an' no telling what that demon clan did to him once he was souled again...”

“Or what Samuel did to him.” Dean adds offhandedly. He's testing Gwen, to see where her loyalty is placed.

“I know Samuel didn't do much.” Gwen knows she's going to be raked over the coals by Dean; Bobby has already made her aware of this fact. “None of them knew what to do, then—someone thought he could be a decoy and from that moment Samuel would hear nothin' different.” She picks up her mug and walks backward to lean on the counter ledge. “I tried to reason with him. Let me get near Sam to check, but he kept sending me away. I broke away from my camp early on a hunt, headed back to the compound and saw my chance to finally check on Sam.” Gwen places the mug down on the counter, then stretches her arm out along the sink edge and looks down at the tiled flooring. Like she can recall every single detail. “He was bone weary and just confused, he wasn't harmful, just in pain and scared. I wasn't used to this— _human_ side to Sam... I started to care.” She shrugs like she's not to blame for her reaction; it was inevitable when you witness human suffering. “So I got him showered, got him some clothes from his own bags, which he almost swam in and put him to bed. I gave him some pain meds and a shot of a sedative to get him to sleep. I watched him as best as I was able.”

“Was Samuel furious when he found out?” Dean takes a sip of his coffee, then keeps his eyes on the dark liquid swirling around.

Gwen shifts her head to brush back her bangs, then crosses her arms to glance at Dean. “Yeah, but once I told him that Sam was 'Sam', not a decoy like they imagined, everything seemed to be all right.”

“How did they get Sam away from you?”

“Dumb luck on their part because I had to go to our infirmary to take care of our wounded guys. Samuel must've seen an opportunity and had the rest of the guys just take Sam away. I'm surprised they even knew where Bobby's place was.”

Dean points to both Bobby and Gwen. “Next time I see Samuel, one of you better hold me back. I'm not wasting one more minute on smokin' that jackass.”

“I'll be standing in line right behind you.” Bobby grumbles as he swipes at his lower jaw.

Gwen shakes her head somberly. “A month ago I would've said the same, but... I only want Sam to get better.”

Dean nods his head. “Couldn't agree more.” He glances at the time. “Five minutes. Are you sure you can't cut me some slack this once?”

Gwen spares one quick look to Bobby then goes back to looking at Dean. “Do you know what you're in for?”

“What do you mean?” Dean wrinkles his brow in confusion.

“If you expect to see _your_ Sam throw that idea out the window.”

“oh, okay...” Dean nods his head as he comprehends the meaning. “I see what you're saying. I'm fine. I'll be all right.”

Gwen glances at Bobby with a raised eyebrow. “I should prepare him a little, shouldn't I?”

“It might be helpful.” Bobby gives a slight nod, then turns to look at Dean from the corner of an eye. “I did the same thing, Dean. Thought I'd be okay seeing him, then—saying it and doing it are way-more different when you're up there with Sam.”

Dean switches his gaze between Bobby and Gwen. “He's not hideous or grotesque is he?” He's noticing that they keep looking at each other rather sheepishly or on the sly—like they know what's going on and have every secret kept between them.

“While he ain't no Phantom of the Opera...” Bobby rolls his eyes, because Dean's going to react a lot different than anyone else will, seeing Sam like he was. “... he's just not gonna look the same to you. You might be mortified and maybe a little upset.”

Gwen moves around her kitchen to put away some of the dirty dishes and clean off the crumbs on the counters. “What little moments I had with Sam when he was clear-headed, I can understand what Bobby's saying.”

“Okay, so...” Dean begins to realize he needs to talk directly to Gwen to get the honest truth. She appears very straightforward. “... what exactly do I need to be prepared for?”

“For one, he's unconscious. For two, he's in a hospital bed—Invacare—it's a special mattress of these soft pellets that move and shape around a bed-ridden patient to prevent rashes and skin sores. It moves in intervals. A lot of Sam's medical equipment has been 'donated', like his heart monitor and oxygen set-up. There are a few pieces in the room we use off-n-on... an EEG machine to track his brain waves while he's sleeping. He's bald, mainly because I had to shave his head to make sure he wasn't cut or had an open wound. It was all tangled and matted with blood—probably other fluids. We've kept him bald so we can get to his head, so we bought him these thin skull caps. Hmm... what else... oh? We tried relying on him and a routine to take care of waste—like urine and feces, but that proved a bad idea. We've got a catheter in him for urine output and we've put adult diapers on him to catch other accidents.”

“ _jesus..._ ” Dean covers a hand over his eyes, keeping the hand there to take this information in.

“You don't have to come up with me, Dean.” Gwen softens her tone to almost sound motherly, as if she cares about Dean in spite of not knowing him—only by knowing Sam and Bobby. “Give yourself a day or so. It's a lot to take in after not seeing him a whole year.”

Bobby leans back on a kitchen counter. “And seeing him in this state, though I've been through most of it... still leaves me shaken. It's why you found me in the garage and not in the house.”

Dean takes the last swig of his coffee and slips out of his jacket. “All right... Gwen. Let's get this over-with.”

“Okay, then...” Gwen gives a weak smile to Bobby. “I have the TV on in the sitting room—remote's on the coffee table. And the laptop's set-up in the dining room, if you need to do anything on-line.”

“Thanks, Gwen.”

“No problem.” Gwen heads out of the kitchen, down the short hall and rounds to the staircase, she'll head up in front of Dean. She looks behind and down as she climbs. “You're going to want to stay here, am I right?”

“uh, yeah... if I can, I'll take your couch.”

“I have two extra bedrooms, plus the master suite. I only use my bedroom as a huge walk-in closet. I use the bathroom and change in the bedroom. I don't sleep well—not because of Sam—because of the hunting life I've stopped having. I can't seem to catch three-to-four hours, maybe less if I'm really stressed...” Gwen turns to watch Dean climb the last few steps. “I do thorough house-checks. Lay salt-lines around doorways and windows. I'm just never sure if I show up on _their_ radar, especially with Sam here with me.”

“They'd be persistent, if they thought he was alive. Maybe those demons who had him think he's dead...” Dean folds his arms over his chest. “... or just rendered powerless.”

“I suppose.” Gwen is simply leaning on the wall, because she can explain the entire second floor right where she stands. “I'm simply freaked out by the lack of activity around town, which leads me to think that whatever they used Sam for when they re-souled him might actually have something to do with why it's so quiet here.”

“Is there anyone who would know besides Sam?'

“I'm not even sure Sam remembers.”

“True.”

Gwen begins to point at the doors along the hall. “Master bedroom is down here, door at the end. First guest bedroom... then the hall bath behind me... a second guest bedroom and then the room I have Sam in. It's the second larger bedroom. I needed a place where I could hold all of the medical equipment, his bed and there's a small sitting area so I can watch him when he's restless like he was last night. There's carpeting in the master, hardwood flooring in the second bedroom—makes it easier to roll the equipment around, plus his bed.” She starts heading toward the end of the hall where Sam's room is located.

Dean his hot on her heels. “Bad night?”

“No. Not for me... for Sam.” Gwen hangs back from walking fast, like she usually does and slows her steps down to let Dean catch up with her. “His mind was so brutal on him the seizure lasted almost twenty minutes.”

“Christ...” Dean wipes a hand over one eye, where he feels a constant pounding starting. “... he should be dead.”

“yes, I know... I don't know if it's luck or not. I just don't know why he does it or how to alleviate the pain he's in while he's sleeping.” Gwen shakes her head, dipping chin to chest as she smiles off her embarrassment at not being able to figure this whole medical mystery out. “God, I keep calling it a 'seizure', but no doctor will actually diagnose him as such.”

“Maybe it doesn't know how to manifest outside the body any other way.”

“That's what we were thinking.” Gwen nods her head on one bounce, then swivels to flourish her hand down to the rest of the empty hallway. “Well... do any of the rooms appeal to you?”

“Let me think on it. I might not be able to sleep at all. If so, I'll just sit at Sam's bedside.”

“Have you returned to hunting yet?”

“No. I don't know what I'll do, actually.”

“Sam was happy for you.” Gwen looks at Dean in the hopes that he'll actually stare into her eyes for a little longer so he knows she's being genuinely kind to him, meaning him no harm. “That is... for the year he was with us without his soul.”

“Bobby was telling me Sam knew where I was.”

“Did you ever see him?”

“Not once. I didn't... I thought—well, I guess that's a moot point now.”

“Strange though 'cuz he made it seem like he'd seen you or had spoken to you. Sam never said much, but that was just him.” Gwen places her hand on the doorknob. “But, like you said, it's moot since Sam probably doesn't know what he did for a whole year. Or maybe he does and he's trying to forget. You ready?”

“Yeah.” Dean drops his arms and shakes them out. “I think I am.”

Gwen nods her head as she turns the knob. _“Heya, Sammy! How's my special guy doin'?”_ She leaves the door wide open for Dean to walk in and shut the paneling. She goes right over to the bed to lay her hand on top of Sam's hands folded on his belly. One of his hands untucks to pat hers. “Dean?” She glances behind her to see Dean making very slow progress to the foot of the bed. She gives him an encouraging smile. “This is what I meant when I said half of his brain is awake. He hears us and acknowledges our presence, but see how there's no connection with his face...”

Dean hears Gwen's high-pitched softening tone, talking in a motherly manner to comfort Sam. He watches her lower the height of the bed.

 _“_ _How's Sammy tonight? Is he good?”_ Gwen looks down to see Sam make a small “thumbs-up” sign. She clamps a hand on it, then bends forward to kiss the brow, rubbing over the top of the skull cap. _“Great. I am so glad you feel good. So much better than yesterday, huh?”_ She chuckles when he pats her hand as if in assurance. _“But we pulled through it, didn't we? Because we're strong and brave, right?”_ Gwen motions for Dean to come up alongside the bed and get on the opposite side of where she stands. “When I come to visit him, I usually give him a full bed check—make sure he's urinating, check the diaper. If he needs a bath, I wash him down, then lotion his skin with baby lotion. It's safe for any type of skin—no chemicals that might irritate or be harmful. Tomorrow morning, I'll put him through some exercises—just typical mobility ones to get the joints in motion so he doesn't atrophy... uh, meaning the joints stiffening.”

“You're good with him.” Dean hates admitting this, but it's so damn obvious she's practically keeping him alive—safe and protected from harm. “He seems to respond to you... your voice.”

“He's been forced to. Sometimes I know he gets tired of me. He thinks I'm a hard task-masker. _Don't you, Sammy?_ ” Gwen rubs a balled fist over Sam's mid-chest. _“Gwen's jus' a big ole meanie...”_ Sam's hand comes over to give Gwen a squeeze, then tries to bring the hand up to his face. “See... it's like he's aware of what he's doing. Synapses are firing, but they don't ever connect to his face—from nose on up.” She watches her hand be smothered along Sam's cheek. “mmm... I should shave him tomorrow when I give him a bath.”

Dean glances down, then at Gwen. “Thank you seems so... _useless_ to say. I feel like I shouldn't trust you because of Samuel, but... all of this—what you do, what you've given up for Sam... I'm grateful you've been here for him.”

“We're family, you know. I may not have understood Robo-Sam all that much, but I don't know... I loved Mary. Her kids seemed a natural progression for me to like you two. Those brief moments with the real Sam... it's easy to see why you all adore him so much.” Gwen reaches out with her left hand, and of her own volition, to caress Sam's thin, gaunt face. “Hard to believe all these prophecies about him. Bobby's been filling me in.” She shakes her head, looking from Sam to Dean. “Mary would be so proud—of you both, Dean.”

Dean swallows hard because he's never comfortable with anyone telling him this, even if they did know his mother. “Dad raised us to be good soldiers. Better than he ever thought he could be.”

“Mary had her own flare. Always admired and respected her. I was happy for her when she met John... scared when she had you, then Sam. I was gutted when I heard she'd been taken so... well, I don't have to tell you how it was.” Gwen places Sam's hand back down on his body. “Go ahead... touch him... touch or take his hand, but address him. Call him 'Sam'... or 'Sammy'... he answers to both.”

“One question...”

“What?”

“Does he _really_ know _who_ we are?” Dean clears his throat because he's starting to feel less and less convinced this was a good idea. “I know he knows you because you've been with him constantly. But does he know _people_? Who they are to him?”

Gwen tilts her head, giving Dean a small smile. “You're afraid this is all an elaborate trick, huh? Like these motions he does are only because anybody's voice is speaking to him.”

Dean scrapes a hand over his forehead, trying to rub away an ache growing. “I don't knock the truth of this extreme unnatural ability Sam has, but you have to admit that if you go looking for miracles badly enough you'll eventually find one.”

“Wow, all this time working with angels, demons and all things supernatural...” Gwen's a bit startled by Dean's comments. “... and you have no faith to speak of?”

“I don't see that having any significance to Sammy squeezing my hand or bringing it to his friggin' face... what I do worry about is that he's become, like, a side-show attraction...”

Gwen clears her throat, swalling the lump of nerves in her throat. “Do you think I want to keep him like this?”

“I think you feel like you need to atone for Samuel. I don't—maybe you feel like doing some good for the bad stuff you were roped into by your own family. God knows if Samuel's kickin' ass like he is and not takin' names, he's got side deals out the ass... and demons would be the worst of your worries.”

“Wha-?” Gwen is about to respond but there's something she sees out of the corner of her eye. “Wait!” She puts out a hand to touch Dean, get him to stay quiet. She looks down at Sam's hands, down to his feet then back up his body and stops at his face. “Did you see anything?”

“No, I was too busy...”

Then it happens again—Sam's brow twitches as well as his fingers.

Gwen grabs a handful of Dean's shirt. “This is...” Her eyes are darting around, filling with moisture. “... don't say anything. I need Bobby up here. Don't move.” Gwen quietly, and hurriedly, exits the bedroom.

Dean doesn't want to be left alone with Sam—not like this, in this condition. He can't look at Sam because that means he had to face the year he had ignored calling Sam—just to be a jerk. He had wanted to be spiteful then realized that when he felt those urges to call Bobby or summon Castiel, he should've pulled up his big boy pants and ate some fucking pride.

Gwen returns, standing at the doorway, loud-whispering her words to Bobby as they advance into the room. “It's the most I've seen him do _without_ touching him. It proves he _knows_ voices.”

“Or he knows _Dean_ 's voice.” Bobby holds Gwen back where they stand; he doesn't want her to go near Sam. He wants them to simply observe. “Just... randomly... make a statement.” Bobby explains to Dean what he wants him to attempt. “Something only you and Sam share—like a memory or a moment in time... but talk to him like he knows you'd talk...”

“What? Like I'm a foreign language or something?”

Even with only the sound of Dean talking: the gravely timber, the hard vibrations, the changes in tone as he asks a question—it registers in Sam's mind from his ears listening and he moves his body this time, letting out a soft mewl.

“ _... jesus christ!..._ ” Dean jumps back; he's spooked himself.

Gwen and Bobby wander to the end of the bed at the foot-board. They were still out of the way, leaving Dean to keep going.

“Can you imagine what would happen if he touched him?” Gwen shakes her head in wild amazement.

“There's a potential he could wake up. Maybe speak. Good Lord...” Bobby has half a smile on his lips as he looks to Dean. “Dean, we always thought you boys had a close bond, but this just solidifies it.”

“Castiel was right.” Gwen is poking Bobby in the ribs with her elbow. “They _are_ soul mates.”

Dean glances sharply at Gwen. “Wanna run that by me again?”

Instantly, Sam's left hand goes airborne, latching onto the railing and shaking the shape.

“For Christ's sake, boy...” Bobby commands toward Dean, “... take his hand. He ain't gonna hurt you.”

“But I—” It was too soon for Dean, because he knows if he has any contact with Sam everything they had been to one another would come rushing back. He knows it, because even though he can get angry and pissed, his love for Sam far out-weighed any bad. Soon enough, Dean's tired of the rattling of the side-rail, so he presses a hand on top of Sam's, laying the other hand on his abdomen.

Sam flips his left hand over to under-grip Dean's, his right hand goes to cover Dean's on his belly then brings it up his chest to lay a bit off-center of his heart. A heart that beats steadily, the skin feeling warm and soft under the thin hospital gown top.

“Sammy...” Dean tests the name, then squeezes both hands. “I made it... I'm here...”

“... look at his face...” Gwen is near breathless when she speaks.

“You're doin' it, boy.” Bobby attempts to encourage Dean to stay on track. “Keep goin'. See if he'll open his eyes for you.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“Say your usual bullshit to piss him off. He's gotta miss that.”

“—god... weird how I can't conjure up the 'bullshit' when I don't need to.” Dean smiles down at Sam, realizing how easy it is to fall into talking to Sam even when he's unconscious. “Dude... a whole frickin' year? Not a word... or a house-warming present. I could kick your narrow ass for not trying to reach me on my birthday. Not even a text... _bitch_...”

“Dean!” Gwen's outraged, but Bobby quiets her with an arm set gently around her shoulders.

“Nah! It's their 'thing'.” Bobby smiles and smirks behind his hand. “Let him hear it again, Dean.”

“Don't think I'd let another year slide by an' you forget to call. I swear you can be such a _bitch_ sometimes, Sammy.”

“ _... jerk..._ ” Sam forcefully pushes out on an exhale of air, but doesn't open his eyes; there is rapid eye movement under the lids.

“ _—oh my god!_ ” Gwen turns to huddle under Bobby's arm.

“ _Dagnabbit! I knew it!_ ” Bobby secures his arm tighter around Gwen, pounding a fist on the top edge of the foot-board.

Dean notices the eyelids flickering. “I think he's attempting to wake up.” He points to the eyes. “R.E.M. like a crazy person.” He smiles widely then unconsciously brings the bond of their hands on the railing to his lips. He can't help but kiss the skin, then hide his simple glee behind his own hand.

“Oh, jesus...” Gwen raises her hands in shock. “Why am I not recording this?!” She looks over at Bobby as she makes her way over to a small rectangular box on wheels. “Did we take off the leads on his head from the last time?”

“They might still be on. Let me go check if we're running low.” As Bobby goes to one end of the bedroom to look in a cabinet and some drawers for supplies, Gwen walks over to pull the EEG monitor closer. She lowers the bed railing on Sam's right side, then moves to take off the skull cap.

“Ah! Bobby...” Gwen calls out over her shoulder toward Bobby. “... I got a few still on.”

“Think you can get a decent read-out?!”

“Probably. We'll see.” Gwen glances over at Dean. “Go ahead and keep talking, Dean, and don't be afraid to mess around with him. Let his hand go. Touch his face or softly punch him in the arm... jostle him like you're teasing him. Anything you two do that'll be triggers to Sam reacting.”

Dean keeps his hand over Sam's heart, but brings his right hand over to cup the shaved head with the sever buzz-cut. “All your pretty boy hair is gone. Thank God 'cuz if I had to clean one more drain after you showered—I don't know...” He runs out of steam when he sees Sam's lips smile—or smirk—hard to tell when nothing else moves and the eyes don't add any feeling. Dean wants to see the smile again. “I don't know... it's a distinguished look for you. I need more time to tell you how I really feel about it. I do like your caps... very- _very_ cool... wanna see?” He picks up the cap in his hand to display it in front of Sam's face. “C'mon, open your eyes and look at the skull cap. It's kind of like the ones you wore back in junior high.”

With Gwen connecting the wires to the leads, then turning on the EEG machine, the tumblers start to whir. “Look at this... it's like he's struggling with himself to wake up.”

Bobby looks to where Gwen points. “Well, one side is certainly tryin' to dominate. Poor kid... can't imagine the mind-fucks he's suffering.”

“Is that true, Sammy?” Dean keeps leaning toward an available ear. “... what Bobby said? Do you hear Bobby?”

Gwen elbows Bobby to say something. “C'mon... let him know you're here too.”

“Sam... hey, kid... yeah, I'm back... don't know why—you an' your brother are jus' a bunch of _idgits_.”

At that point, Sam lays there and busts out chuckling softly—clear as day. The whole room follows along with him.

Dean's a little worried Sam won't open his eyes. It's like they're glued shut. “Hey, Sammy... so, I know you wanted me to, like, have my apple pie life any way I could get it, but I've left Lisa and Ben—gosh, has it already been six months and I'm livin' in total sin... nothin' but hookers and prostitutes...”

“Dean, no need to be crude.”

Gwen gently laughs. “It got a rise out of Sam. Look... it changes pattern right here, then steadies.” She's pointing out on the printed paper that comes out of the EEG machine to some of the spikes in the brainwaves.

“Geez...” Bobby smirks with a bit of humor. “Sam really hates it when you use women so shamelessly.”

“No...” Dean shakes his head in disagreement. “... he has a dream for my future where he thinks I'll be happier.”

“And you _can't_ be happy? Or you _won't_ let yourself be happy?” Bobby narrows his eyes on Dean, wanting to know the truth.

“Funny about getting exactly what we think we want...” Dean leans on the side-rail, staring off in the distance. “... it turns out not to be what we expected.”

“So you stayed because— _what_?” Bobby's is becoming perplexed by Dean's words.

“Who knows.” Dean shrugs, hanging his head in shame. “If I had wanted an easy out, I'd say I did it because that's what Sam wanted for me—it's what I drilled into his head I wanted.” He swipes a hand over his face, keeping the palm curved about his jaw. “The more difficult to admit is that I gave myself that life and that family so I got used to it and Lisa and Ben started to depend on me.”

“Why's that the difficult end?”

“—'cuz it can never blend with _this_ life—the hunter's life. Or with Sam... or you... anyone connected to me through this world.”

“I thought she understood.” Bobby doesn't know if he wants to know this stuff about a woman he barely knows. “I thought she—”

“I thought so too, but the longer I was there, showing signs I was... missing pieces of who I am, it wore on Lisa... and Ben. It took me from them.” Dean feels that he's being a little rude, not looking at Gwen only at Bobby; he connects eyes with her as she keeps staring down at Sam. “It looks like I'm forced to be with them because there's nowhere else for me to go.”

“That's how you _feel_?” Bobby is beyond stunned that Dean lasted a whole year in this environment, thinking it was his penance for something. “You've turned it into something that's an obligation to people who don't even know the whole you?”

“I think I fucked it up intentionally.”

“Eh, one would assume so.” Bobby thinks it's fairly obvious that what Dean did, pushing buttons to get people to make it easier for him to be the bad guy. “But I don't think you actually wanted to leave Sam in the first place.”

“No. No, I didn't.” Dean smooths the back of his hand over Sam's face.

Gwen swirls around. “What did you do?”

Immediately, Dean pulls his hand back, making a fist. “Touched his cheek. Why?”

“I don't know. I've got a third wave here I've not seen before.”

“Should I—?”

Bobby nods his head. “Go ahead. I'd ask ya to hug him, but it's a little awkward right now.”

Dean caresses the cheek again, then rubs down to the jawline, moving over the collar bone and upper chest. “What's going on?”

Gwen holds up the printed read-out to show Bobby the new results. “What do you think, Bobby?”

Bobby's zeroing his eyes on the two prominent waves that are still doing their usual action, but then this new one joining in that seems to be as strong and prominent. “I'd have thought emotional and physical would be connected, but this could almost be—well, pardon my wording but... _he's aroused_.”

“What?” Dean takes his hand away completely, bringing the fist onto the side-rail. “Like _sexually_?”

“I don't know, Dean.” Bobby's a little exacerbated by Dean's inability to accept things easily, always questioning and throwing out his own opinions. Bobby only knows what he does about the brain and brainwaves because of Gwen, the medical doctors they've seen and then his own research. “I'm learning as I go along too.”

“Christ!” Dean places a hand over his eyes, unsure if he's ready for this kind of news. “Find some other word to use, because it's not possible he's _sexually attracted_ to me.” For a second, he pauses, mainly because he's not outraged on one level. “Well, not that I'd mind, but—no, never mind... I'll stop talking.”

Gwen spins and rolls the machine around to place it at Sam's bedside. “Let me—I wanna try something.” She crosses her arms to lay them on the bed railing. “Don't worry. I'm not gonna give out free hand-jobs. Bobby's right, though. It's a brainwave we haven't seen before because no one here was singled out as Sam's soul mate or his, uh... 'split apart'? Except you.”

Dean stares at Gwen across the way. “That sounds even more twisted.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, getting tired and frustrated by Dean already. He was too invested in Sam to give Dean the benefit of doubt. “Dean, would you quit. Let her speak.” Or maybe he's just a little bit too sensitive about Gwen.

Gwen rips off the current sheet, then starts a new one. “I'm gonna touch Sam in the exact same way, just with my right hand and we'll see if that's gonna give us anything.” While she watches the read-out and her hand, Dean and Bobby watch her hand and then Sam. She spends awhile caressing Sam's cheek, even running her nails along his skin. Gwen traces down his throat, pulling at his chest hair to run down to the V-neck of the gown and tucks her hand under the material to roll over the nipple. “Nothing... not one sign of arousal. It has to be the right person's touch—the right person's energy.”

“It's not me.” Dean lifts both eyebrows in complete denial.

“Why _can't_ it be you?” Bobby raises his tone. “Stop actin' so disgusted. I don't know why you're bein' this way— _so outraged_. You barely let the boy live his life. Between you an' John, neither of you ever allowed him to love away from you.” He shakes his head, hands braced on the edges of the foot-board where he stands. “If we counted Jessica that'd be unfair to the poor girl. Did she really get to love who Sam really is? Or did he keep everything he was a secret from her?” Right about now, Bobby can't seem to stop himself from letting it all pour out, right over Dean. “I doubt he ever fully loved her the way she needed to be. Everyone Sam loves cripples him for everyone else, while you all go on and live your lives to the fullest.”

“—jesus, Bobby...” Gwen's never heard Bobby so impassioned and defensive. “... tell us how you really feel...”

“This—just isn't right, is all.” Dean grumbles as he touches Sam's face again. He does the same motions down the neck, across the chest. He decides he's going to mimic Gwen's movements out of his own curiosity. With one index finger, he traces the V-neck on the chest, pulling on the soft chest hairs—the chest begins to heave and Sam's face flushes.

“—here it is... it's like a separate current he turns on to work in conjunction with the other dominant wave. Watch.” As Bobby and Gwen keep their eyes on the read-out, Dean continues his exploration.

Dean tucks his hand under the gown material, sliding his palm over the right breast and makes sure the nipple fits between two fingers. He rubs and soothes, catching Sam's body arcing, hand gripping tight onto Dean's on the railing. Dean eventually uses his ring finger to bend back and flick the pert nub. He's trying to ignore that he can feel the right side of the rib cage, that every bone and tendon can be felt—Sam's lost too much weight being bed-ridden. Dean is even avoiding the fact that his own body is highly curious and confused at the moment. “—can I stop now?”

“uh-oh, yeah, sorry... he's...” Gwen doesn't know exactly what to say at the moment.

“Damn, boy...” Bobby has left his perch at the foot of the bed, now he stands behind Gwen, looking over her shoulder. “... you've certainly gotten more out of him than any of us have in two months of intense work and therapy.”

Dean keeps his hand on Sam's bare chest, but has pulled it out to rest on the mid-sternum. “Does anyone know why—well, I know how touch is arousing and it can often be what comforts... like a mother's touch or a lover's caress... but why exactly does it register for him stronger than others?”

Gwen turns back around to face Dean, able to answer his question. “Well, you know the experiment of rubbing your feet on a carpet—creating static electricity—then reaching out to touch something... _someone_?”

“uh, yeah...”

“Our whole bodies are filled with that kind of energy—untapped. What I think this might be is a separate electrical current that should be a part of his other brain waves, but it can't be switched on yet. Something's holding it back. So his mind just...” Gwen snaps her finger beside her right ear.

Bobby's smirking with such a look of awe on his face. “—bypassed the old wiring and made a new one...”

Gwen nods her head as she watches Bobby come around from being at her back, then stands beside her at the bedside. “God it sounds foolish but there's so much going on inside any normal brain—like a mainframe to a computer or the central power grid to a small town.” She spares her gaze between Bobby and Dean, a faint smile on her face. “If he's strong enough to withstand what he went through, shutting down to cope... why can't he have this innate ability to reshape and repair his brain.”

Dean doesn't know why all this new information is almost making sense to him. “How exactly do we help him “fix” his mind? We don't, like, micro-size ourselves in a little spaceship and shoot ourselves into his bloodstream.

Gwen frowns, her forehead wrinkling as she tries to think backward in time. “Wasn't that a movie?”

Bobby waves away Dean's foolishness. “Dean and Sam grew up in front of cable TV, watching every movie in their motel rooms. Even the classics.”

Gwen smiles wide at Dean. “You use pop culture references a lot, don't you?”

“uh, yeah, I do.” Dean nods, then quickly glances at Sam. He's missed that ability so much this past year. Ben's too young to know those unusual references and Lisa—well, she doesn't have the same passion for them as Dean has.

“Mary was good at that too.”

Dean goes still, swallowing hard. “Really?” He seems shy about that knowledge. He can't remember much about conversations with his mother when he was four, but it _feels_ like something they could have had in common with each other.

“No lie. She was good too.” Gwen doesn't sound jealous, only envious because everyone wanted to befriend Mary Campbell. Even when she married John and became a Winchester. “It's why people liked using her for board games. Girl had a sharp brain on her.”

Dean can't help but smile with pride. “Damn, next you'll tell me she loved classic rock and—”

“—knew all the lyrics so she could sing along?” Gwen recalls many a night—when Mary would babysit her younger cousins—of playing the stereo too loud and picking up anything that could “look” like a microphone.

“Jesus christ...”

“No wonder you and Samuel butt heads...”Gwen snickers lightly, shaking her head. It's a bittersweet thought to think Mary's boys don't even realize how much of their mother is still alive. “... you're too much like his head-strong daughter.”

Dean shyly glances at Gwen. “Thanks. That's cool of you to let me know.”

Gwen gives Dean a sad smile, then looks at Bobby. “We should try to reach Castiel soon, see if he can help us figure this out. Or... I don't know,” she clears her throat, looking between Bobby and Dean, then back down at Sam. “... does anyone know of spiritual advisors or any religious sects who deal with this kind of stuff. I don't assume we'd get much help from the medical profession who deal directly with brains.”

“Let's do that tomorrow, huh?” Bobby has taken a look at his watch and a clock on the wall. “It's pushing one in the morning and I'm sure you need to finish this routine you've built for Sam.”

“oh, yeah, yeah... sure...”

Bobby moves to exit then notices Dean wasn't following him. “Dean... you comin'-with?”

Gwen glances at Dean and sees his hesitation. “You're more than welcome to stay. I could use your strong manly muscles.”

Dean looks at Bobby. “I'm gonna stay an' help, Bobby.”

“Okay. I'll be making more coffee, if anyone's interested. If you two get done in the next few hours, I'll make you an early breakfast.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“yeah, Bobby... thanks...”

Gwen watches Bobby leave and close the door behind him. “That's quite a dynamic between you boys and Bobby. Almost like a surrogate father.”

“Bobby's place has always been our second home. Our only stationary home. And, yes, Bobby is very much like a father, probably stuck up for us, took care of us, better than our own father.” Dean finally lets go of Sam, placing the hand on Sam's chest. “Okay... what do we do first?”

Gwen notices Dean appears a bit reluctant to start. “You know you can leave the room at any time. I won't think any less of you if this becomes a bit too much. I know it's difficult to see Sam like this.”

“Not gonna lie—this is very tough, but...” Dean doesn't feel it's right to touch Sam, get him jump-started if his touch his really that powerful. He'll wait to join Gwen. For now he braces his hands wide on the side-rail. “... it's been more tough to not be near him an' not be able to—”

“—protect him... watch over him.” Gwen thinks she has a good read on Dean. He's not as awful as she assumed. “You can't trust many people to do the job right, so you'll do the job yourself.”

“Something like that.” Dean eyes Gwen as she starts to pull the layers of blankets back to reveal the rest of Sam's body. She had been keeping him dressed in hospital gown tops and loose linen bottoms. It all looks very clean and comfortable. Gwen motions for Dean to lower the side-rail in front of him. Once they had both rails down, she uses a parental index finger to stress her point. “First thing I do is get him upright to make sure he's dry and clean. This also allows me to start moving him. So place your hands on his right side and roll him toward you... but make sure to protect his head.” When Gwen checks her side, then the pad underneath, she motions to Dean. “Now roll him toward me and do the same 'check' I just did.” Once Dean nods that things are fine, they put Sam on his back again. Gwen starts to tug at the drawstring ties, then pauses. “Do you think you'll have a problem seeing Sam's genitals?”

“You mean his dick and balls?”

“Yes, Dean...” Gwen rolls her eyes at the more crude words said. “I need to check the catheter and see if his diaper is clean.”

“uh, yeah. I'm, uh... I think I'll be, uh... fine.”

Gwen's so deft at undressing Sam, Dean can't keep up and simply takes his hands out of the way. He watches how impersonal and cool Gwen's touch is; it needed to be to show how professional she could keep her relationship with patients. Once the bottoms are drawn half-way down Sam's thighs, Dean looks at the floor below his feet. He hears the tape rip to open the diaper so Gwen can pull down the front panel; she does the catheter check, moving Sam's thighs around to look underneath for any seepage or feces and then closes him back up. At least Dean helps her pull the bottoms back up but is left to tie the strings as Gwen goes for the stacks of pillows they'll use. It was time for Sam to rest on his other side. She begins to stuff the pillows from the foot-board on up, raising the railing again.

“We're gonna roll him so he can sleep on a side for the next three-to-four hours. We'll get him over here as far as we can, then use the rest of the pillows to fit behind him in case he rolls in the middle of the night. I realize with this kind of bed and mattress is supposed to prevent bedsores, but sometimes they crop up no matter what you do to prevent them. This is just an old nursing school trick we did when we didn't have geeked-out beds like this one.”

Dean quietly follows Gwen's lead and as he raises the railing for the final step it seems like an hour has passed not only a mere ten minutes. He watches Gwen take off the EEG leads and then kiss Sam's brow to put his skull cap on. He gives a small smile from the side of his mouth. He's starting to like Gwen, even forgetting she was a Campbell who had worked with Samuel. She was too good with Sam and he's pleased she has stuck around to take care of him in Dean's absence.

As they recover Sam with the layers of sheets and blankets, Gwen soothes over Sam's exposed left shoulder joint then down the biceps. “So... have you decided where you want to sleep?”

“uh, yeah... with Sam.”

“uhm...” Gwen's not sure she knows how that's possible, but maybe she should just wait and hear what Dean has to offer. “oh-kay...”

“Do you happen to have a chair or, like, a recliner of some sort I can just pop it in here and sit at his bedside.”

“I've got a cot, if you'd like a real bed. We could set it up here, behind me.”

“So you don't have a recliner?”

“Well, I do, but it's down in my sitting room.”

“Do you sit on it?”

“No. I sit on the couch. It seems like such work to bring it upstairs.”

“It's okay. Most of those chairs can be taken apart.”

“Oh? They can? I always thought they were one solid piece.”

“They used to be, but when they made the over-stuffed ones they were harder to shove through doorways.”

“Ah, understandable.” Gwen shrugs her shoulder, dropping her arms to pat her thighs. “Well, if you and Bobby can combine your strengths and make it happen, you're more than welcome to stay in here with your brother. You'll be seeing me every couple of hours. Think you can handle that?”

“Yeah-yes... that's what I want. To be here for Sam.” Dean thinks the more he says things out loud he'll actually believe this is real and not a dream.

For now, he'll pull up a random hard-back chair and sit beside Sam. He wants to touch him, but he can't. Dean's afraid he'll stimulate Sam too much and he won't be able to control him. He suffices with staring at Sam asleep, that seems to be more calming than anything—for both brothers.

  
**~~ &&~~&&~~&&~~...tbc...~~&&~~&&~~&&~~**   



	3. Chapter 3

  
  
**A Single Thread**   
  


  
  
**Chapter Three**   
  


Sam sits on the bed–Indian style–and tilts his head to hear the tiny footsteps make their way back into the room. He takes a sniff of the air, smelling some delicious food.

“That smells good.” Sam smiles from one side of his mouth, lifting his head as the meal nears him. “I'm starving.”

“It should be.” Little Sam sets the tray down. “You made it for yourself.”

Sam is going to have to get used to hearing those kinds of words and talking like that himself. It's strange, but almost comforting. He's getting used to having his entire left arm back, keeps flexing the hand to make certain it's actually there. The gauze is still over his eyes, which will be the last thing to be removed. “Are you sure you don't know why I feel so much better–healing faster than I ever have?”

Little Sam goes still, looking over at his older self. “I do know, yes... but you keep telling me you _don't_ know him.”

“oh, yeah... this, uh... Dean- _somebody_?”

“He's not just Dean-somebody!” Every now and again, Little Sam gets petulant about Sam's disinterest in his reality. “He's our brother!”

“okay-okay! I'm sorry.” Sam holds up a hand, palm out, in his defense. He can tell when he's wearing on his own nerves. “I know it frustrates you when I can't remember him. I do know I have siblings... a brother and a sister. I have two parents and they–” It's almost as if Sam can sense the annoyance and frustrations coming his way. “What? Am I wrong?”

“You couldn't be more wrong if you tried.” Little Sam feels a bit weaker, having to continue to reiterate that Sam's dream family is _not_ his real family. “What you keep remembering as your family is what your _ideal_ of family was when you were young–when you were _me_.” He gestures to himself as if Sam can actually “see” him. “We had this apple pie slice of life...”

“I know that phrase.” Sam tilts his head like he hears a noise. “Why do I know that phrase?”

“It's been something Dean–our real brother–says to you when he means he wants a normal life from what you two do for a living.”

“What do we do?”

“Save lives...”

“We do?” Sam lifts both eyebrows in slight shock.

“–and hunt things.”

“We... _hunt_? What things do we 'hunt'?”

“Things like the ones who torture you all day.”

“Really?” Sam smiles and tilts his head to the side, curiosity filling him. “Sounds... _exciting_.”

“It is, but you've hated it.” Little Sam leans on the night table, moving around things on the surface as he waits for the food to cool. “Well, you used to– _we_ used to because it was what Dad did. _We_ grew up in that life with Dean. All of us were expected to become hunters like Dad.”

“mmm...” The wrinkles in Sam's brow frown right down the center. “... sounds kind of pushy to me.”

Little Sam smirks, little by little as time passes, he sees the eeking of the real Sam coming out. “He was, but he loved us in his own way. We knew we deserved better, that there was something better.”

“Have I been working with Dean since we were old enough to hunt?”

“Dean did. You went away to college.”

“I did. What did I study?”

“Political Science. You wanted to become a lawyer.”

“wow, hmm...” Sam swishes his head from side to side, trying to wonder if the idea fits him or not. “It doesn't feel like who I really am.”

“It's not. After four years, Dean brought you back in.”

“I went willingly?”

“Dad was missing. It was important to find him. And...”

“And– _what_?”

“You had a girlfriend–Jessica.” Little Sam takes a long pause, thinking about how he should word this portion. “She was killed the same way our mother was when we were six months old.”

Sam starts nodding his head as if he's beginning to recognize a few pieces of information. “–burned on the ceiling... faulty electrical wiring...”

“You're remembering now?”

“A little. Are you sure we didn't have a sister... my father was a claims adjuster, my mother a piano teacher... we lived in a house on Cedar Springs–” Sam feels the tiny hand clasp his arm. “ _What_?”

“It's time for me to take the gauze off.” Little Sam hates this part the most, but he knows he has to do this to move on. “This may hurt a bit.” He slowly lifts his arms to reach out for the edge of the tape.

Sam makes sure his lids are shut as he feels the tape come off and the gauze pads taken away. “Can I open them?”

“Slowly. Maybe one lid at a time. We don't want to–”

Too late. Sam opens both eyes and immediately sees his entire life flash before them. The real Sam's life. He quickly covers hands over his sockets. “Oh my god! I'm gonna be sick!” It's like a vortex of millions of images flashing at him at once; he feels himself spiraling out of control.

Little Sam latches onto the wrists. “No, you're fine. It's just...” He climbs onto the mattress, on his knees to crawl in front of Sam. “... with eyes finally opened, you see who you really are. You can look at me, if you want. Look at me directly and concentrate.”

Sam does, peeking from beyond his hands. He recognizes his younger self and lets his eyes fill with tears. “You're, literally... a sight for sore eyes.”

Little Sam feels his own eyes brimming with moisture as he grips Sam's hands. “You have to pay attention to me. Hear what I'm saying.” He sits Indian style like his older self.

“oh-kay...” Sam thinks this is rather wild and trippy, being able to see himself as a pre-teen. “... what is it?”

“Dean is here.”

“Dean is– _here_? Like...” Sam's widens his eyes in stunned shock, a bit breathless. “... here with us?”

“No. He's with your body, Sam.” Little Sam motions his head above them, toward the ceiling. “He's come to help us.”

“Help us?” Sam glances around with the turn of his head. “Where are we? This doesn't feel–”

“You've trapped yourself in your own mind.” Little Sam keeps trying to grip onto the huge forearms at different levels so he can always have those hazel eyes trained on him. “Well, part of you has. The part that thinks you deserve this kind of punishment.”

“How long have I been like this?” Sam shuts his lids in mild shame, swallowing hard.

“Too long. It's time to go home, Sam.”

Sam opens his eyes to look down at his younger self with half-lidded eyes. “–and out there–in reality... am I–?”

“You're alive– _barely_. You're pretty damaged, Sam.” Little Sam reaches out to soothe over Sam's skin and along his pant legs. “You're struggling... fighting to stay alive though you're killing yourself inside.”

“My demon side wants _this_.” Sam lifts his hands to squeeze the skin between his eyebrows, right above the bridge of his nose. “He probably _likes_ this.”

Little Sam quirks up one side of his mouth. “He would've liked to have been in that cage with you.”

Sam looks at Little Sam, narrowing his eyes on the mirrored hazel sheen. “I leaped into the pit with Adam, but I walked soulless for– _what_? A year? Two?”

“Just about.” Little Sam nods, thinking this was his favorite time when he and his older self were finally merging their minds and memories.

As Sam speaks, it comes out rather deliberate as he feels each intricate file of his memory slide right into his brain. “While I was in a cage, my soulless self unleashed Hell on Earth for the hunter's side. My grandfather–Samuel.”

“Yes. Everything you said is true.”

“Those who put me back into my body could've cared less about how they retrieved it. That's why I'm like _this_.” Sam looks around the vacant warehouse room. “I've got too many Sams inside my brain.”

“Well, one of them is winning and doesn't mind this random every day torture.”

Sam frowns, shaking his head at how ridiculous he's become. “Is there any possible way to save me from myself?”

“There is. That's why Dean is here.”

“Dean... god...” Sam places hand over his eyes, wondering exactly what Dean thinks of him. “– _dean._.. he's probably pissed at me.”

“When is he not?” Little Sam lets out a soft snicker

“True. He...” Sam wrinkles his brow like he's concentrating on a memory. “Did he leave Lisa and Ben? To come to me?”

“I don't know.” Little Sam shrugs, his hands tightening again as he comforts. “I won't know unless I can ask.”

“So he's here now, like... right next to me.”

“Most likely.”

“Can I see him? A peek... just a–peek, really... it's all I ask...”

“Take my hand.” Little Sam throws out one hand, palm up, for Sam to take. “Close your eyes– _concentrate_.”

Sam does and sets himself adrift upward until he hits a barricade of sorts. “I can't... there's something blocking my way.”

“Push against it, Sam.” Little Sam pets the top of Sam's hand, encouraging him along the way. “You created this barrier, you're strong enough to move it.”

“–I move it an' Dean'll be on the other side?”

“Always, Sam... you know that.”

“Yes, I do know that because... _he loves me... my brother loves me... Dean loves me..._ ” Sam pushes and shoves while he keeps repeating every announcement he makes; soon the barricade is removed. As the blockage breaks apart, there's a bright light that makes Sam put up an arm to shade his eyes as he squints. The light dims into a glint until Sam notices it's an overhead lamp playing off the face of a watch–a watch on a thick wrist. The wrist is connected to a man's slumped body–arms draped over the side-railing to lay on the pillows. A head is bowed low between the arms and Sam moves to his back...

It feels like a hospital room–sterile and huge–and he senses that he's... oddly exposed and vulnerable. “ _... dean..._ ” He garbles the name only because he hasn't used his vocal chords in a month or so. “ _... dean... hey, dean..._ ” Sam places a hand on Dean's fingers and shakes the hand.

Dean shuffles awake, narrowing his eyes on Sam. “Sam?... Sammy, you–” It's like he can't believe his brother is awake and alert.

“ _I don't... have much time, Dean... I'm not–_ ” Sam settles down on the mattress; his stomach is clenching within–like a fist is twisting his guts. “ _... I'm not strong enough for this... I need you to–_ ” He groans in pain and wraps his arm around his middle. “ _–ungh, dean... please... save me..._ ” And as quickly as Sam surfaces, he's sucked back down.

… Sam opens his eyes to look at his younger self. “I saw him.” He's looking up at the high ceiling, his eyes are moving around as if he can still see the images of that section of his mind–it had been so clear, so real. _Oh, Dean._

“And?” Little Sam quirks up one side of his mouth, already he's the happiest he's ever been since arriving.

Sam lowers his head and locks gazes with his younger self. “I told him to save me.” A shy smile slips out rather slowly, causing Little Sam to join in on the sudden bliss–they both feel its power, the flowing energy.

“He was probably going to do that anyway, but now he knows you're in here, wanting to get out.”

“Yes. Let's hope.”

~~&&~~

Dean grabs onto Sam's shoulders, shaking him. “ _no-no-no-no!... don't you dare leave me again! Not you! Sam?!... Sammy... don't leave me too!..._ ”

… and then Dean shoots upright in the chair from his power nap. _Damn..._ that had felt go-damn-fucking real, but there Sam rested, right where Gwen had placed him. Dean feels... out of sorts and not because of the terrible way he slept over the bed railing. No, he feels like Sam has gotten “in” him, not just inside his heart, but that he has climbed inside of his body. Or at least his mind.

Dean stands up, taking one last longing look at Sam before he taps the railing, walking out of the room to head downstairs to talk with Bobby–if he was still up.

~~&&~~

Gwen and Bobby are seated at the dining room table–Gwen's pouring over textbooks and research text from her family's extensive library and Bobby is typing furiously on the laptop keyboard.

“See...” Gwen runs a single finger along a line of text. “–he completely contradicts his own theory– _right here_. I'm not sure he'd be a good source to use.” She keeps pushing her bifocals up her nose.

“Well, he is right on both counts.” Bobby patiently waits for the Internet search engine to pick up the words he plugged in. “Isn't it good that he tests himself, which means he's not totally sold on his theories an' he's willin' to leave his mind open?”

“I don't know.” Gwen takes off her glasses and sets them down to pinch between her eyes. “But we can't risk Sam's life on inaccuracies and self-doubts.” She pulls up her legs to squeeze them within the confines of the captain's dining table chair she sits on. “We need to be assured that the methods we use are gonna be sure-fire successes.”

Bobby is the one who notices Dean in the kitchen, walking toward them. “Hey, kid... you ready to move that recliner?”

“Later.” Dean takes out a dining chair to sit down. “I think I know another way 'in'.” He extends both arms across the table, entwining his fingers.

“A 'way in'– _where_?”

“Sam's mind.”

Bobby sits back in his chair, glancing over at Gwen who's about as confused as he is. “Dean, what–?”

“I can't be certain, but... I wasn't touching him or even connected to him in any manner.” Dean mimics all his actions from upstairs, in very small details so he doesn't miss anything. He knows he needs as much help as he can get to figure this weird shit out. “I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I'm having the same dream as reality exists... Sam in the hospital bed, me at his side and then– _whammo!_ He wakes up... he wakes me up, but only in this dream state...”

Gwen places her feet back on the floor, rearranging herself on the cushion to sit forward. “Soul mates are known to be linked with one mind... one thought... to create one world...”

“What did he say?” Bobby tries to look for some scrap paper, blank would be best, so he can write notes.

“Not much.” Dean bends his left arm, resting his head on the balled fist. “He asked me to save him, then–I don't know... he had stomach pains and vanished as soon as he spoke... leaving behind his unconscious body.”

“Holy Christ!” Bobby's simply amazed there's been this much activity from Sam after weeks of nothing but seizures.

Gwen smiles, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh, my god... he got out! He actually got out of his own mind.”

“He got out, but he only got into my head.” Dean shakes his head in defeat. “How's that an improvement?”

Bobby folds his arms in front of the laptop. “Well, then we need to find a way for you to bring him back with you.”

“It's a dream.” Dean stares at Bobby as if he foolishly keeps waiting for miracles

“Is it, Dean?” Bobby lifts one eyebrow.

“It felt like a dream.” Dean keeps rubbing at his chest, mid-sternum. “It wasn't– _real_.”

“What's wrong? Why do you keep–?”

Gwen places a gentle hand on Bobby's arm to quiet him down, then looks over at Dean. “Did something else happen?”

“No, no... it's just... I'm feeling... not right.” Dean soothes over his chest, leaning back in his chair. “I feel like even for that brief period of time... Sam–he got 'in' me... like he got _inside_ my body.”

“Then there you go, Dean.” Bobby rolls his hand toward Dean, wishing he'd accept things as they stood. “That was Sam–that was your brother.”

“Jesus... he's just... he's always been a pain–in the way... the only thing that draws me back in, keeping me from leaving. And then he... he grew up, became his own man... and he's so... he's bigger than me, you realize that, so it feels like he walked in my skin and got me all crooked.”

“You were right.” Gwen chuckles lightly, elbowing Bobby. “Their relationship certainly is never boring.”

Bobby stares at Dean, then raises both eyebrows as he reaches an understanding. “If Sam can get in, then maybe it works the other way too.”

“Has he ever done this before?” Dean glances between Gwen and Bobby. “With anyone else?”

“No. Not once,” Gwen answers quickly. “He's never wanted to. He just been steadily worsening.”

“Face it, Dean.” Bobby points his index finger roughly down on the table cloth, stressing his opinions. “He knew you were here and he tried to come see you. If that was his best effort... _christ, man_... I can only imagine he's rendered powerless of his own mind and body... his soul is still weak and taking all the beatings.”

“God...” Gwen continues to be fascinated by this whole situation. “... who ever knew the soul was that vital to a life.”

Dean clears his throat. “If that was the real Sam I saw, then who do you think is holding him in?”

Bobby's the one who responds to this question, “His demon-side, most likely. Probably doesn't like that the soul came back.”

Gwen gently slams her loose fist into Bobby's biceps nearby. “Can you fathom the Hell Sam goes through being held under by his darker side?”

Bobby shakes his head unsure he can even fathom the kind of torture Sam makes himself suffer. “Anything that was done to him in Lucifer's Cage times a billion-ty.”

“Shit! We gotta find someone soon.” Gwen rubs over her chin, in deep thought. “Who knows how long Sam can take this torture.”

Dean shivers as he recalls Sam struggling to say he wasn't strong enough. Was he talking about at all or was Sam not strong enough for what he had attempted to do to get out? “I can try tonight. I can... sleep by his side, see if I can't 'jump' like he did.”

Gwen folds her arms over the book she was perusing. “He may not have been strong enough.”

“huh?” Dean can't believe Gwen would hit the nail so directly on the head. “Wha-? Why do you say that?”

“Well, think about it. Demon-side is always assumed to be the dominant one, but Sam seems to be inherently 'good'... and decent, kind and sweet. What if it preys on that–on Sam's fears he'll go dark. He's got nowhere to turn, no one safe to trust and he's being traumatized by reliving his days in The Cage. Not to mention what Robo-Sam did to him for the whole year.”

Dean gradually nods his head, comprehending more as he's starting to wake up out of his fog–one from the quick nap he took, the other from the _haze_ of the last year. “He's given in.” He then quickly shakes his head in sudden disagreement with his own theory. “Sam's not that weak.” Dean looks to Bobby for an explanation he can't figure out. “He wouldn't just give in or give up.” _Would he?_

“Dean, it's not a character flaw. It's a damn fact. It is what it is.”

“He's not weak. Not while I'm around.”

“Well, there ya go! Case closed!”

“I'm only saying...” Dean brings his fist to his chest, tenderly pounding against his heart. “... we keep each other human.”

Gwen nods her head. “I can 'see' that. He's your constant; you're his stability. Or why else would you have gone back to get his help when you needed to find John. You're a better hunter when he's around, because you have something– _someone_ –to fight for. Keep safe.”

“I didn't want to find Dad on my own. I don't... if there was a chance Dad was hurt or–god forbid–dead... I didn't want to have to drag Sam away to tell him, leaving him without the choice of whether he could've helped Dad or not. I had no idea to the trouble I would bring him.”

Bobby smooths his thumb-pad over his lips. “They needed you two back together so they gave Sam a reason to fight.”

Gwen looks off into the distance. “Someone spurned him on toward his destiny.”

“I can't believe this is what they want for him. There has to be some way to get him back safely, then–-I don't know...” Dean reaches back to scratch his scalp then rub over his nape. “... rebuild the wall back up or...”

“Or– _what_?”

Gwen glances from Bobby to Dean. “Why do we even need the wall if it's _that_ faulty?”

“I thought that was what kept him sane, not this spastic, stone-like vegetable.”

'Dean!” Bobby's outraged by Dean's use of words about his brother.

“What?! We're down here; he's up there behind a closed door.”

“I don't care if he's on the friggin' moon, son... he's your brother and you never speak ill of the sick... or the dead.”

Gwen raises an eyebrow as she looks across at Dean's own curious eyebrow raise. “There's a generation of us who are superstitious in saying out loud exactly what someone is ill or dying of.” She loud-whispers this to Dean behind her hand so only he can see her lips, “They whisper it in passing, so as not to get the same sickness or affliction.”

“Okay... fine...” Dean glances at the ceiling and proclaims an, “ _I'm sorry_ ”, then makes a quick sign of the cross. “–an' I'm not even Catholic...”

“What is it, Dean?!” Castiel calls from his post in the kitchen.

All three of them startle in fright.

Bobby shakes his head. “It wasn't a call to you, Cas... sorry, wrong number...”

“Great.” Castiel heavily sighs as he makes his way into the dining room. “Well, being that I am here... anyone want to tell me where we are so far?” He looks at everyone, but trains his eyes on the back of Dean's head. Dean hasn't turned to look at him; it's as if he won't move at all.

“Well...” Bobby speaks in a crisp, enunciated voice as if he wants Castiel to understand that this is just how things are going to be, no matter how much he doesn't like the outcome, “... there **_is_** a strong connection between Dean and Sam.”

“Yes. I told you.” It's a weak nod from Castiel; his shoulders slump in an exhaustive manner. “They are soul mates.”

“We knew _that_ , but we had to _confirm_ it.”

“And?” Castiel is a little incensed that the room is too quiet. No one seems to want to speak to him with anything new they might have found out. “Did something happen?”

“I'm going to start work on that chair.” Dean stands up, looks to Bobby and Gwen. “Gwen, do you have a tool box handy?”

“uh, yeah... check the hall closet off the kitchen or, uhm... the same room as my washer/dryer.”

Castiel watches as Dean pushes in his chair and leaves without saying a word. “Is he angry at me because of the call?”

Gwen gives Castiel a sad pout. “I think he's ticked at all of us for NOT calling.”

“But he told you...” Castiel hates being confused about humans, _especially_ Dean Winchester. “Then I'll apologize.” He's about to follow Dean wherever he has disappeared to.

Bobby calls out to Castiel turned back, watching as he slowly spins back around, “That's not why he's upset.”

Gwen's a bit stunned as she looks over at Bobby. “It's not?”

Bobby shook his head at Gwen, over-emphasizing his words. “I think he's been processing everything, but while we were 'testing the waters', we learned something pretty significant.”

“What?” Castiel doesn't know if he wants to hear more on this... situation.

“Not only are Sam and Dean soul mates... they're what's called ' _split aparts_ '...”

Castiel goes still, hands in pockets balling into fists. “–they were once _one_ soul... _one_ entity...”

“yup,” Bobby proclaims rather curtly, waiting for Castiel to find a way to discredit him. Castiel had a difficult time figuring out, then coming to grips, that Sam and Dean were soul mates, and that Dean might be the only one who could actually save Sam–possibly by entering his mind.

“This is... most interesting.” And something Castiel didn't want to know right now.

“Why?”

Castiel raises his eyes to stare at Gwen and Bobby, realizing he should speak what he knows, not hold back. “Because _split aparts_ aren't supposed to be–they don't...” He finds it tough to explain without offending them.

Gwen can detect that Castiel is uncomfortable with revealing whatever he knows. “If Dean lends him his energy, then... who knows what else can happen.” Immediately, it's like she knows what Castiel can't admit to them. “They're not human, are they? _Split aparts_. Well... they're not _supposed to be_ human...”

“No.” Castiel deadpans a look toward Gwen and Bobby. “If they are, it's only for a brief time. Never a full human lifespan.”

“How can they be this way? It's almost...”

“–sexual...” Castiel speaks as if he knows exactly what Gwen and Bobby are telling him before they say anything.

“Dean's touch aroused Sam–not in a 'wake him up' kind of way. We didn't go the Full Monty on the boy, but–damn, if he didn't start making noises and movin' like he was gettin' turned on.”

Gwen nods her head in agreement. “Then he spiked that third brain wave, separate from the two strong ones.”

Castiel admits to himself that he's not knowledgeable on this whole “brain thing” like Gwen Campbell is, so he relies on her intelligence. “What does that mean?”

“First of all, he created it out of thin air. He's always had those two, equally strong waves–one dominates then transfers to the other to let it think it's under control for awhile–”

“–like a shared domicile,” Castiel adds the bit because he can understand what this portion means.

Gwen nods in agreement, then simply keeps speaking, “–then suddenly Dean caresses Sam on the face and neck–just enough to stir and... this new electrical current picks up and it runs right along with the other two, but it's faint.”

Castiel pauses to think, but he is becoming aware that he's known cases like this as simple myths or stories told in theory. They're easily more understandable when they take place in Heaven... or Hell. “He's adapting.” He has to take a chair–-pulling out the one Dean vacated.

“What?” Gwen shakes her head at the use of the word.

“He's using Dean's current to form a new brain wave.” Castiel points to his own head. “He's rebuilding himself, but inside his brain.”

“What?! That's, like, impossible, isn't it?” Bobby glances between Gwen and Castiel–one's as confused as he is, the other just stares at him with no expression whatsoever. “Nobody can build a better human _inside_ themselves.”

Gwen has seen some impossible things become real in front of her eyes. “Apparently Sam can, but he needs to have Dean present or it can't happen.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Bobby turns his head to question Gwen, hoping she knows something he doesn't.

Castiel speaks out to add his own opinion, “It means we should stick to our original plan and find a way into Sam's mind.”

“Dreams,” Bobby offers out a new theory.

“What did you say?” Castiel is confused, and happens to frown appropriately.

“Sam found a way 'in' to Dean's dream... his mind.”

“What? Just _now_?”

“A few minutes before you arrived.” Bobby zeroes his gaze on Castiel, watching the information flow over his features, and the slight body language. “We think if Sam can get in, then so can Dean.”

Castiel looks worried and pensive. “I wouldn't suggest that method just yet.”

“We've been reading...” Gwen offers out a response, but then Bobby picks up to finish of the explanation of what they've been doing with their time while they waited for Dean's arrival.

Bobby smooths down the side of his nose. “–an' we've been looking for spiritual guides and dream specialists...”

“Those ways aren't going to help Sam.” Castiel shakes his head to silently disagree with that method, not until he's had a chance to do his own reading. “Our libraries in our archives have the true methods of how _split aparts_ can... regroup or reconnect.”

“With you as their conduit?”

“Not just me. Any of the angels. Even ones beneath my rank. But if Dean... _wants_ me to help–yes, I will.” Castiel stands, then tucks his hands away again. “I must be on my way. I left an important meeting to come here. I will–you can reach me in a few hours. I'll have read the scrolls I'm allowed to get my hands on.” He is gone with the soft flapping of his coat... or his wings, who knew.

Dean returns to the dining room, stuffing the screwdrivers into his back pocket. “Ready, old timer?”

“I'm always ready, young whipper-snapper.”

Gwen is intrigued by this whole “ _split apart_ ” phenomenon. It fascinates her to no end. Living the life as a registered nurse for twenty-five years, then twenty-two years of off-n-on hunting/nursing... she had seen enough to have her beliefs and opinions tested. The story of Sam and Dean Winchester keeps growing to epic proportions. This seemed like another chapter in their long, bittersweet journey. She pulls her laptop over and starts doing some random searches on-line of her own.

  
**~~ &&~~&&~~&&~~...tbc...~~&&~~&&~~&&~~**   



	4. Chapter 4

  
  


  


**A Single Thread**   
  
**Chapter Four**

  


Bobby sticks around upstairs to help Dean put the recliner back together. He steps away a few inches to admire their handy-work. “Now, that... is one swanky Lay-Z-Boy.”

“I will sleep like a baby.” Dean climbs off his knees from the floor to plop himself down on the cushy cushion.

“One would hope.”

Dean kicks up the footrest, looking over at Bobby. “What makes you stay, Bobby?” He sets his arms over his belly, tangling his fingers.

Bobby tilts his head, crossing his arms. “What do you mean?”

“I know the way Sam had been acting–what with Ruby, then this whole Lucifer in Sam's meatsuit prophecy and... no-souled Sam...” Dean crosses his ankles as he pushes back to recline more. “I'd've thought you'd be a bit P.O'd.”

Bobby spares Sam's unconscious form a glance. “You didn't see what he looked like when I found him in front of my house.”

“Keep reminding me, 'cuz next time I see Samuel Campbell he better be packin' some heat. I'm not hesitating to take my best shot at him.”

“You an' me both. Sam was...” Bobby clears his throat to talk in a lower timber, then periodically lets his eyes travel over to Sam. “... when he was lucid, he kept apologizing, but when he wasn't–jesus, I keep imagining I've seen the worst of humanity.” He shakes his head in sorrow over how cruel the Campbells had been to their own kin. “But then–I don't know... the sight of Sam fightin' to stop shakin' an' beggin an' moanin' for the pain to stop... it washed away all the bad been done to me. At his core, he's still Sam... I can't help seein' that little boy with that fly-away hair an' them big dumb brown eyes jus' shinin' with tears... he's always been the very essence of an angel to me...”

Dean swallows hard, having to stare low to the ground. “I've never heard you talk about him like that.”

“I never thought it was my right–until now.” Bobby gestures between their chests. “You an' I have always had an understanding. Even with John around, I still felt like your father–in a much _different_ way.”

Dean nods his head in complete agreement, with a slight smirk on his mouth. “You've certainly made me feel like a very different son, even when I fucked up.”

“I love you...” Bobby states his feelings plain as if they just exist and no one can budge them. “... an' I love Sam as much as I loved John and Mary, but...”

“But– _what_?”

“I've always felt like you protected Sam, even from good people like me.” Bobby notices that Dean swallows hard as he averts his gaze. “I wasn't allowed to be like I was with you. Sam was sensitive and delicate, treasured to near sainthood... martyred at the very second of Mary's sacrificial death... I mean–c'mon... it's like a tragic heroic tale, not to be believed as real.”

Dean releases a small smile. “Has Sam replaced me as 'favorite son'?”

“I can't choose. I don't want to choose. _Both_ of you are my favorites.”

“ _... cop out..._ ” Dean mumbles under his breath.

“It's the truth.”

“I apologize if I made you feel that way. It wasn't intentional on my part.” Dean fixes the back of the recliner to lay at a forty-five degree angle. He pet the soft cushion arms with the thick woven fabric, watching his fingers play of the intricate design. “I'm sure at some point Dad even felt like I was kickin' him out of his role as father. I knew the only one I could trust with Sammy was me.”

“I'm not sayin' it was right or wrong. It's all you knew. You two were all you had in the end.” Bobby sputters out a stilted laugh. “Now... jesus, it's like it all makes a helluva lot more sense.”

“I'm still not sure what it means.” Dean rubs a hand over his cheek, petting over his growing stubble. “To the point of our relationship–in reality. I think what's done in our dreams or our minds is workable for that framework, but out here...” He shakes his head not sure he can still fathom he was able to reach Sam so effortlessly.

Bobby dips his head, then speaks rather frankly and concise. He wants Dean to know he makes no judgments and has an open mind to a lot more than he thinks. “People would wish harm on you if they knew you were destined to be 'in love' with your brother.”

“ _Christ!_ You say it like it would be _that_ easy.”

“Isn't it?”

“He's my brother...”

“And? Look at the Royal family in England... cousins marrying cousins–distant, yes, but still... it's family.”

Dean snorts out a snicker, drawing up his right leg to bend at the knee. He mashes it to the right arm of the chair. “I don't think that applies here, Bobby, but thanks for trying to soften the blow.”

“You could do worse.”

“I _have_ done worse.”

“Eh, that's your opinion an' I'll leave you to know best.”

Dean shook his head, rubbing at his denim-covered thigh. “I couldn't do it.”

“What?” Bobby furrows his brow in bewilderment.

Dean bounces his head on the back cushion to look over at Bobby. “–the apple pie life I wanted so badly. Look at me...” He chuckles at himself, what a poor excuse of a human he is. “... one call from you and I'm in the Impala and back on the highway like I never left.”

“At least you tried.”

“At least she didn't castrate me in my sleep. I don't know how Lisa lived with me. Ben, meh... I was good with him.” Dean can't speak ill of children. He cares deeply about Ben; it doesn't matter that they aren't linked biologically. “He was–it was nice being a parent for once to a decent kid. It felt right.”

“I'm assuming when the, uh... no-souled Sam merged with the real Sam he found out about Lisa and Ben. Sam processed those memories... where no-souled Sam felt pleased he'd done his duty, but Sam... he felt–”

“ _What_?” Dean finds it rather pitiful that he hangs on every mention of what his brother might have said in the short time he was in his body, re-souled and not spazing out.

“I think he said... _disjointed_.” Bobby says the word with a slight questioning tone. “I didn't understand until I looked the damn word up.”

“Did Sam find out how often he may have stopped on by?” Dean's not sure if Bobby's holding something back or he really doesn't know much information to tell.

“Apparently as often as no-souled Sam found himself out your way on hunts. It became a ritual he'd do, telling himself he had made the right choice.”

“Did he say if he ever had plans to knock on my door?”

“Yes, I think he did, but he made a different choice. He thought he could best these demons, be used as bait... except had no idea it was set-up by Samuel.”

“ _... fuck..._ ” Dean almost growls as he mimics his hands going around a thick-ass neck, then squeezing until it was wrung dry of all lifeblood. “I jus' wanna get my hands around his neck...”

“Killin' him won't change much.” Bobby's got the same passion to seek revenge, but he also believes that if you lay down with dogs long enough, you get covered in fleas–one day Samuel will get what's coming his way. “They'll always want Sam for some cockamamie bullshit or whatnot. 'Sides... I hear from Gwen, Samuel wasn't the only crazy Campbell in that clan.”

“Nice. We can just dirty bomb the whole compound.”

“There are too many good ones like Gwen being swindled by the few bad apples.”

“Were they really as good as they said with Sam in their pack?”

“Sam _became_ their pack. I think they used him 'til they found a better deal. Gwen thinks Samuel must've planned all along to get rid of him, waiting for the right moment.”

Dean feels unsettled at hearing Sam was a better hunter, which could mean that Sam had been even better than him, even Dad. And Dean knew what it had taken for he and Dad to exceed a normal hunter's scope of perfection. He could only imagine the horrors Sam had faced and had calmly walked through as if nothing had happened.

“I'll leave you alone, son.” Bobby starts to head toward the doorway of the bedroom, giving one last furtive glance toward Sam's bed. “Give you your peace and quiet.”

Dean turns awkwardly in the recliner where he's almost draped over the damn thing, legs hanging off the right arm. “Do you think we're on the right track?”

“We're a sight better than we were a few days ago. Hell, I'm never too sure of much 'til I'm in the damn middle of the situation.” Bobby sees the doubt rolling over Dean's face. He can almost see a desperation present like he's turning to anybody around him for advice because he has no confidence in his own choices. “Tell me what you're feeling right now?”

“I don't want to wait.” Dean rubs at his jaw, then up to his ear, tugging on the lobe. He looks up at Sam. “I want to go in... see if I can help Sam out on my own without relying on anything or anyone else.”

Bobby sighs, knowing he can't stop Dean from doing what he is going to do. All he can be is there in the aftermath. “If I leave this room, what happens after I close the door never needs to be revealed to me.” He walks over to tap Dean on his leg, then squeezes an ankle. “If I've trusted in one thing, it's knowing you and your brother... and these 'instincts' you two share...”

“Even if my instincts tell me this could be a bad idea–to maybe, wait until we know better?”

“That's when I think you know best, when you're under pressure and pushed to a wall with no other option.” Bobby gives a sad smile as he quietly exits the room.

Dean kicks back in the recliner again, pushing the cushioned back to its extreme point and stares at the foot of Sam's hospital bed. It might be awhile before he nods off to sleep.

~~&&~~

Sam strolls along with himself in a surreality that had come to comfort him. He turns to Little Sam and pauses in the middle of their steps. “This is far enough. I don't think you need to walk me back all the way to my house.”

“You sure? Because I don't mind, really.” Little Sam looks up and down the empty sidewalk in the blue-hued evening light. He hates this time inside of Sam's mind. It feels too much like a nightmare creeping in. “It's not like I have something else to do or much to go back to.”

“This is a heavy burden for anyone to bear. Especially a kid.” Sam smirks as he reaches down to chuck under Little Sam's chin. “Now that Dean's here, maybe he can help relieve some of the stress on you.”

“I don't mind, Sam.” Little Sam swats at Sam's hand, but he grabs for it the second time it teases him, then he simply holds the hand. “I've never minded.”

“Still... it's unfair of me to do this to you– _to myself_.”

“It's kind of my job–to show you the way out.”

“I'll be okay. I promise.” Sam gives his younger self a hard squeeze to his hand. “I'll try to remind myself when I wake up that none of it is real and I'm needed somewhere else... like in my real life.”

Little Sam appreciates Sam's promise, but he knows he won't keep it; tomorrow will be like today and the day before that. The other side is too strong, tempting and arousing. If it's only him and no one else, he feels Sam's lost to him more and more the longer he's locked in here. He's waiting for Dean to arrive and wishes things would get done quicker.

Sam squats low to be even with the tinier form, then opens one side of his arms to embrace in another round of comfort and reassurance.

“G'night, Sam.” Little Sam hugs tight, laying his cheek on the dip of the strong shoulder. “Sleep well.” He soothes over the wide expanse of back over the coat.

“You too.” Sam closes his eyes as he inhales the heady scents and sensations he feels when he holds his younger self in his arms. “We'll see each other soon.” He stands upright, then paces away, walking out of sight.

Little Sam watches Sam disappear in the distance and knows he'll be right back here to start the routine all over again. He needs to return to his room before _they_ try and come get _him_.

~~&&~~

Dean wakes up in the recliner, but it's almost instantly that he knows it's a dream. Senses are at an intensity, time seems to churn at a slow grind. Everything is eerily quiet. He's never known he had this ability to be so self-aware and senses heightened; it has to be leftover from Sam's short jaunt into his brain, playing tricks in his own mind. Like Sam jump-started their deeper connection.

He pushes in the footrest and simply sits there in the recliner as a normal chair. Sam is still on his right side–still in the hospital bed, but not as unconscious as one would think. He looks like he's sleeping. The minute green eyes skim over the length of Sam's body, a decision is made. As if he can see himself making every deliberate step, Dean gets upright and walks around the bed frame. He lowers the bed, then drops the side-railing. He lifts the collection of blankets and slides in behind Sam. Dean scoots in until he's aligned perfectly with Sam's back, then he settles his body down so he can cocoon Sam. He grabs on as he closes his eyes tight.

 _Next moment..._

–an alarm sharply bellows an hour to rise and Dean opens his lids to find that it's ringing wherever he is and the wherever he is... is a bedroom. It's clear the room has been occupied by the owner for several years, maybe a lifetime. Dean's on his back, on top of the sheets, and lifts to his elbows. As he gazes around the room, he finally notices a lump of huge human beside him buried under a mountain of linens and a thick comforter.

 **_“_ ** **_Sammie! Samuel!? Wake up! Don't you hear your alarm!?!”_ **

A long arm pokes out to silence the clock and the body starts to shift and move in protest. “ _–but Moo-oom!_...”

Right then, Dean's on alert because he thinks he's going to see Mary Winchester again, but apparently that's not who Sam fantasizes as his mother. It's a face Dean can't place, but she's the epitome of what generic mothers in dreams should be–a little too energetic, bright and cheery for seven in the morning. She's not the 1950s housewife, but she's some drone from a TV show character whose whole life was her family.

The Mom pokes her head around the door. “Rise and shine, Sam... quick!... before you lose your bathroom slot to your brother or sister...”

Dean immediately stiffens and thinks he knows exactly what _this_ is. Sam feels safest _here_.

He's inside that damn “slice of Heaven” crap Sam thought existed of the perfect cookie-cutter home life. There's a Dad, a Mom, a brother, a sister and in between them sits Sam. They live in a house, they all have their own bedrooms, Dad works full-time, Mom stays at home while the kids go to public school. They pay taxes and they have three square meals a day; they eat in a breakfast nook in the morning and have supper at a dining table at night. They probably even own a dog; Sam likes dogs.

Finally, Sam gets out from under the covers and it's exactly as Sam is now but acting like he's perpetually stuck as a teenager–he's back to being a high school senior. He climbs out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he moves to a dresser to grab a quick change of underwear. Sam turns at the end of the bed to face Dean and he peels off his t-shirt, revealing the broad muscular chest of a twenty-seven year old Sam Winchester, not a seventeen year old. Dean spots the tattoo on Sam's upper chest, feeling himself shiver and sigh at the same time. Sam throws a towel over his shoulder as he trudges out of the bedroom, down the hall to the bathroom.

There's a slam of the door and then a quick, **_“C'mon Sammie! No fair!”_** , then a high pitched, **_“You snooze, you loose!”_** and ends with a whiny, **_“Moo-oom! It was totally my turn to use the bathroom and Sam kicked me out!”_**

There's someone bounding down the staircase and then another door opening with a second booming voice of a deeper male tone who stands at the railing of the staircase, **_“Honey! Where's my blue tie?! I can't find my blue tie!”_**

Dean's in sensory overload, because every detail is so precise and crisp. He climbs off the bed and bypasses The Dad in order to hear where the bathroom is–Sam has to be showering already. He tries to grab the doorknob but he can't hold the grip; it's a real door but he's not... _real_ , that is. Dean attempts to see if he can make his mind think he can go through doors or walls, but it proves futile. Besides, the door opens and out walks a wet, half-naked freshly-showered Sam and Dean scrambles out of the way of the massive chest coming at him. He swallows his fear; it's obvious he is here but no one can see him. Dean follows Sam back to his room and catches the tail end of him changing into his school clothing: Polo shirt, jeans and clean Nike sneakers. The hair is dry and styled off his face and he smells... almost edible in a spiced musk cologne.

Dean sees Sam move to his desk to collect a notebook and a schoolbook to carry downstairs with him; Dean diligently trails behind. Sam goes right for his backpack in the front foyer, putting away his books and zipping the bag back up. He walks down the hallway into a spacious kitchen and snags a bacon slice on his way to the place setting that seems to be arranged just for him. The Mom promptly reprimands Sam for snagging food so rudely, but he smiles charmingly at her, taking his chair at the table, to the right of where The Dad will sit. It's a pretty elaborate set-up for breakfast and there's enough food to feed two families of the same size. Soon the rank and file are taking their places at the table: The Dad, the older brother, the younger sister and finally The Mom with the last plate of food.

Dean witnesses it all as if it's an intricate dance, how each role has a part to play and dialog is said as Sam basks in the moment and seems to glow more and more with a genuine happiness. It's too perfect, too fantastical... like it's far beyond any sense of reality and doom awaits around the corner. As Sam digs into his meal, sipping at orange juice and coffee, a certain darkness falls over the house, like a cloud covering has blocked the sunlight and now everything is dull and gray. It's then that the tension mounts because Dean seems to be the only one who hears the sharps _ping-pings_ of sniper bullets, breaking glass and tearing through plastered walls. Dean ducks to be safe, not even sure if Sam's dream self has run for cover. He slowly rises from the floor to find the entire DreamFamily brutally killed by single shots to the head; they're all slumped over their plates and bleeding from severe head wounds

Odd thing is... Sam is _nowhere_ to be found. Dean can't believe anyone could have snatched Sam that quickly– _Sam has to still be here inside this house_. A huge blast shakes the foundation, then there's a clatter of booted feet and screeching voices to see if there are any survivors, and if there are... take them into custody. The faces can't be seen but the voices sound experienced and professional–like they're government or military.

 ** _“_** ** _Found one!”_** is bellowed.

Sam's voice can be heard screaming, **_“–no-no-no-no... please, don't hurt me... I'll do anything you want me to do, just don't hurt me...”_**

Dean peeks down the hall toward the foyer and catches Sam on his knees, hands behind his head like he's being cuffed and arrested. A gun is held to his temple and he's asked, “ ** _Are you Sam Winchester?_** ”

As Sam stammers out a reply in tears, stuttering because he doesn't recognize the last name. He's struck across the temple with the butt of the gun and his captors pull off their masks as Sam falls faint to the floor. They all reveal coal black eyes... every single one of them a demon and they pick up Sam and almost vanish into thin air...

This frustrates Dean because he's not used to the dream's slow motion, but it actually went by too fast, not enough to register everything to keep up. “ _Holy shit!_ ” He drags fingers through his hair, wandering into the kitchen, thankful that the family is gone too. Everything is normal and it's back to being daylight outside. Dean spans his hands out on the edge of the marble counter-top and hangs his head in shame.

“Don't beat yourself up, Dean... I failed my first time too.”

That voice... it rings true a memory inside of Dean. Slowly he lifts his head, looking across at a twelve year old Sam. “You can _see_ me?”

Little Sam nods his head. “I've been waiting for you since you arrived.” He points to the ceiling which is supposed to signify that he means “top side”... in reality.

“You are Sam, right?”

“Yes...” Little Sam leans on the counter ledge of the middle island. “... and no.”

“What does that mean?”

“While I look like Sam did– _once_... I act like him, have his memories and then some... I'm not real.”

“I know that.” Dean motions his hand in a circle above his head. “This whole place isn't real.”

“Ah, but you and Sam _are_ real...” Little Sam quirks up one side of his mouth. “... there's a difference.”

Dean finds himself struck speechless–the likeness to a younger Sam, around the time where Dean thinks him most precious and lovable, is looking right at him. Facial ticks are all the same and they weird him out. “So _what_ are you, exactly?”

“I'm a, uh... blessing.”

“A _what_?”

Little Sam laughs lightly, rubbing his palms together. “Before Sam went completely under, Castiel set a blessing on Sam by Bobby's request. Inside of Sam's mind, I manifested in _this_ form.”

“Why?” Dean wrinkles his brow in confusion. He doesn't want to complain, but it almost hurts to see this version of Sam and know it's not real.

“So both of you could trust that I wish him no harm. I'm only here to protect him.”

“What do you do when you _protect_ him?” Dean gets a twinkle in his eye to tease, mercilessly. “Because, to my eyes, you failed miserably at your job. Sam's gone.”

Little Sam gives off a small grin, but he also has a sense of serious business around him. “You can't stop it from happening.”

“ _What_? Stop _what_?”

“His abduction to take him to be tortured.” Little Sam looks at a clock on the wall. “It's early today. Come on...” He motions with his dark brown head. “... now we have to find him.”

“Find him? Seriously?” Dean decides to follow out of the house. “How many places can he go?”

“You'd be surprised.” Little Sam reaches out to touch the front door of the house. “But we're lucky in that demons are wicked enough to pull the same stunt twice.” The paneling begins to fade from the tiny hand's touch alone. “Once we find him in the time we're given, he won't know either of us or himself.”

There a deep, dark void of nothingness in front of them.

Strange how Dean doesn't feel any fear at all, like he'll blindly follow Little Sam anywhere. “They time us?” He frowns a bit to think that Sam would go into that much detail about the world of his mind.

“Just something else done to keep us on our toes.” Little Sam extends out his hand, palm up and fingers curling toward Dean. “Come on, I know where to look first...”

Dean doesn't know why he obeys the younger Sam, but he's got to trust someone who knows the twists and turns of Sam's mind. He's impressed with this kid's diligence and drive. He's like an old weary soul in a tweenager's body. Stepping through the wall of an abyss has sent them through a time spiral; now they stand in the middle of a road, near a car, but not the Impala. As they drive around to search for each demon hot spot, Dean finds he has to curb his need to reach out and touch this version of Sam. The way twelve year old Sam looks is exactly how he pictures his brother in his own ideal Heaven. It's a seductive attempt to get him to never want to leave.

They reach a known hideout far away from a building where there's celebration and partying. Demons are standing guard, but they're starting to get tipsy from the alcohol they keep consuming. It's a little too easy, so Dean is hesitant to let Sam go ahead of him. He grabs him by the shoulder and halls him backward.

“nuh-uh... not on my watch, kid.” Dean doesn't care how easy or hard this'll be, he's getting them to wherever the older Sam is being kept with no chance of those demons ever hearing them.

Sam crouches behind Dean to the right. “I knew I'd do better with you here.”

Dean smirks down at Sam. “Oh, you did, did you?” This is what he misses most, that starry-eyed look to his brother's eyes that everything his older brother did was amazing.

“It's been tough doing this on my own for so long.”

“I'm sorry 'bout that, Sammy. It's not gonna happen again.”

“Okay...” As Little Sam crouches down low, he points out these dilapidated buildings in a row. “... see those shacks over there, lining the woods?”

“uhm...” Dean has to sink low to the ground to see what's being shown to him. “oh, yeah, yeah... I see them now. He's in one of _them_?”

“Yes... the last one.”

“So then let's–” Dean has an easy plan of attack, but a tiny hand grabs for his forearm.

“No! We can't go to that last shack. If we do, Sam'll die. We have to follow their steps. Each shack has a key inside that opens the other shack.”

“Are you kiddin' me?! That's dumb.”

“I know, but that's how Sam wants it to be.”

“You don't mean Sam- _Sam_... the real Sam...?”

“This is his mind and this is him playing his demon-side. He never wants it to be too easy.”

Dean is flabbergasted by how heavily detailed Sam is and how much he treats this as some kind of contest. “This happens all the time? These obstacle courses or little games to win in order to get to Sam?”

“Pretty much. Once I've reached him, I'm safe. We're safe. Well, sometimes.”

“Yesterday was good?”

“Yes. But the day before he'd begun to heal and they came in, took him right from under me. I'm not strong enough for all of those men. I'm only here to give comfort and keep Sam safe.”

“Jesus... I guess that's where it's said that sometimes a blessing can be a curse.”

“Probably. That's my only task, so I do it to the best of my ability.”

“I bet you do.” Dean clears his throat and considers giving Little Sam a boost of confidence. “That sounds a lot like what Sam would do.”

“It does, doesn't it?” Little Sam nods his head, then gives a shy glance toward Dean. “He really rubs off on you.”

“Kind of.” Dean mutters out as he looks around the compound to see if any demons have spotted them. “All right... first shack... _on_ three– _after_ three... ready?”

Little Sam's bit excited at the prospect of working with a partner–-finally. Well, working with Dean, actually. “I'm always ready. Let's go get Sam.”

Dean plays lookout while Little Sam crouches low to the ground and heads out first. Dean uses the cover of shadows to follow behind. When they meet back at the first shack, they hide behind some brush, then make a break for the door. Little Sam knows right where to look for the first key; they were inside in under two minutes. Thankfully, the rest of the shacks seem to be completely empty, so hiding places are very simple to figure out. The second to the last shack is a bit harder because it isn't in the obvious places or out in the open. Frustrated, Dean puts his hands on his hips and looks up... and manages to find the last key. He tries to reach it by standing on a chair– _no luck_. They try using a broomstick from the kitchen area– _nothing_. Then Dean waves Little Sam over.

“All right. Team effort here, kid.” Dean starts to motions his hands as he explains how they'll do this whole thing. “I'm gonna lift you, balance you in my arms... think you can reach high and grab for it?”

“I'm certainly gonna try, Dean.”

“Okay... here we go...” Dean bends low to lift Little Sam from his legs. Little Sam reaches as high as he can get, but barely skims over the key's metal. Dean slowly lowers them to the floor, setting Little Sam on his feet. “You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?”

“We need the broom?”

“Exactly.” Dean's impressed again, not realizing how much he's missed this side-by-side work he and Sam used to do. “Keep it in your hands while I raise you again.”

They work together quite seamlessly. The key falls to the floor and Dean squats down to put Little Sam back on his feet.  
They grab for the key and reach the last shack. Little Sam unlocks the door and once they walk in both are transported into an opulent, well-lit mansion.

Coming down from the high swirling staircase from the second floor was Sam–but it's a pseudo-Lucifer skin version–this was no-souled Sam taking in all that energy from the real Sam being tortured and turning it into what motivated him to hone his demonic powers. He flows like water down the steps, walking with an air of confidence the real Sam had yet to capture. He's doing up the loose cuffs of his white linen shirt, wearing off-white linen pants with white half-boots. Sam's brown hair is slicked back wet, looking more brunette than ever, almost inky black. “ahhh... I see you've brought a–friend... little one...” He spares a flash of his shiny black eyes to young Sam who hides behind Dean and grabs for a hand. Sam cranes his neck in several different directions to walk over to Dean, making him feel rather... _tiny_.

Dean narrows his eyes on no-souled Sam, which could be misconstrued as the real one except for the whole stark white ensemble and the tendency to act like he's already bearing Lucifer's crown. “Have you had your fun for today?”

“I–have _barely_ begun to start.” Sam slowly inches toward Dean, watching as Dean shoves the younger Sam safely behind him. “Oh, please... why mess with the runt when I have the best martyr-ed victim I could ever dream of torturing endlessly... The Good Sam... _your_ –Sam...”

“Intimidation doesn't work with me, you heartless, sadistic jackass...”

Sam sticks out his bottom lip in a fake pout. “Oh... however will I cope. Big strong older brother coming to little baby brother's rescue...” He tilts his head in wild wonder. “I think Sam likes the daily beatings a little too much to think of stopping now.”

“He's stronger than you.”

“Is he now? Why? Because you're here?”

“Yes.”

“hmm... on account of that whole 'soul mate' thing, huh?” Sam watches striking green eyes go wide with shock. “oh, sweetheart... you all really need to learn to talk outside the bedroom next time. If _Sam_ can hear, **_I_** can hear.” He steps toe-to-toe with Dean, raising his hand to see Dean flinch and turn his head. All he does is lift his left hand so he can rub the backs of his fingers along the side of Dean's face. “I also feel _everything_ he feels... which is why I had to come down and meet you...” He pushes toward Dean's mouth and chomps down to clank his teeth like he's biting the whole area.

Dean closes his eyes, letting that hand touch his face then fall down to his chest. “All I want... is Sammy.”

“I know... I know how much you _want_ him... he's your air... he's your blood... he's the fire of your soul... the love of your heart... _blah-blah-blah_...” Sam sniffs up the side of Dean's neck, licking the circumference of his own mouth. “– _blah_! I have to admit, if there's any chance you'll act on this– _close bond_ you two share, I won't torture him quite as much. Give him yourself an' I'll make you regret– _never_! making a move like this before...”

Dean understands how he has to “play” this with no-souled Sam. He thinks he can do it or he'll at least try to match him. “mmm... are you gonna rock my world?”

“Well... I sure as Lucifer's Cage gonna try...” Sam's brown eyes go rounder when he hears Dean snort a laugh, like he's never heard a genuine noise come from a body that actually sounds... _happ_ y.

Dean clears his throat, smirking as he notices a weak spot in no-souled Sam's character. He lifts one eyebrow. “Would you like a taste?”

“mmm–of what could eventually be mine to have?”

“... yeah...” Dean gives off a little child-like chuckle, which again disturbs no-souled Sam.

Sam's curious enough to advance even closer, not aware that Dean's bending his arm behind him to pull out a small hunting dagger; there's a tiny inlay inscription that makes it harmful when he touches supernatural beings. He's hoping it still works in dreams. When it looks like Dean crooks his head to the side, he's actually leaning low enough so that once he palms the blade, he can do a quick slice then hold the pure iron to the bare skin. With a quick flick of a wrist, the inseam of the pants has been cut, then Dean holds the metal to the inner thigh of the groin. He can hear, and smell, the burning flesh as he holds it, then watches the no-souled Sam cry out in agony, falling to his knees as he doubles-over in pain.

“How do you like the feel of my pointy dagger, _sweet_ - ** _heart_**?”

“ _Okay! Okay!... god... please... please... get off of me... NOW!_ ”

Dean scrambles back upright, flourishing the dagger back into its hiding place. “Never trust a hunter, you twisted fuck!”

Sam sits on the floor, holding his torn pants to his wound. He can't stop the pain or the bubbling flesh from the severe burn. “Never turn your back on a demon.” And with that statement, all-in-white Sam vanishes like he was never there. Doors start opening like they were locked to prevent entrance further into the mansion.

Sam takes Dean's hand again, holding tight and strong. “Come on... I think I know where they put him...”

Dean's a little confused because his mind is still stuck on that... enigmatic sick fuck that wore Sam's skin. He had regretted doing harm to his person, because it could either leave a scar on Sam or anger no-souled Sam to a point where he'd implode all over Sam. A door to the basement is open and Dean is back on track. He quickly follows down the staircase. He can hear the boom or a roar in the chanting of voices in shared agony... the walls upon walls of dirty, thin and sickly souls begging to be released. There has to be thousands upon thousands packed like sardines in floor to ceiling cages. Some hang off bars and shake the framework, others are squished so far to the ground only an arm sticks out to show their presence. Dean doesn't know how anyone can stand this; it reminds him too much of his own time in Hell.

“ _Dean! Over here!_ ” Little Sam calls out, finding a smaller separate cage where a lone form–naked and shaking–has been left to bleed out in the middle of the concrete floor where the drain was. The stench of urine, feces, infected wounds and dead flesh almost made Dean puke. Little Sam instructs Dean on what to do to make sure he didn't projectile vomit. “Cover your nose. Use your shirt.”

The lock was easy to pick, and once the door was open younger Sam threw himself on Sam–if this was the real Sam–and had rolled him over to check the wounds.

Dean slowly makes his way over–a full year of not seeing Sam and seeing him in so many different forms except the real one causes him to fall to his knees, overcome with grief. It starts as a need for air so he gulps and then he sputters, which allows the first tear to fall, then a second. He begins to yank off any extra clothes that he wears... like his jacket and his button-down shirt. He notices that younger Sam is crying too. “–hey, it's okay... he's okay. We found him. We did it. We found him.”

“But... _he's dead_...”

Dean eyes go wide and his head shakes from side-to-side. He feels pressure in his mind with the build-up of an energy burst, then he screams like a man in the deepest despair of grief...

… which forces him to wake up to learn that he is now in a motel room. He lays there, trying to hear sounds. He can hear noises in the bathroom so he sits up and turns to glance at the bed next to him. There's a flush and a cough, then the faucet turns on. Dean quickly rolls out of bed, pacing to the bathroom door and pushes the paneling open with two fingers. He lets the door bang on the stopper on the wall.

Sam is at the sink, looking in the mirror. “I'll be out in a minute, Dean. You can have it all to yourself.”

Dean doesn't care. He has one purpose and one purpose only. He crosses the threshold and wanders over to Sam at the sink; he stops just as he reaches Sam. Dean's hands go out to pet down Sam's back, down the sides of his torso and then he leans his head on the space between the shoulder blades.

“You okay, Dean?”

“ _mmm_ –fine.” Dean sends his hands under the t-shirt hem, sliding up Sam's naked back beneath. He lets his hands roam around to the front to lock and squeeze the waist tight. “Come back to bed.” He turns his face around to kiss the shirt material over the warm skin.

Sam softly chuckles. “I will... I couldn't very well pee in bed, now could I?”

“I miss you when you're gone.”

“I was gone for four–maybe–five minutes.”

“I love you. Don't you dare die on me... ever.”

“Jesus...” Sam spins around to sit on the sink ledge. “... now you're worrying me again.” He keeps dipping his head to connect eyes with Dean. “You had another one of those dreams again?”

“I was too late. You were already dead.” Dean can't bear to look Sam in the eyes–dead on–because he'll find him weak and needy.

Sam reaches out to grab Dean's hands off his body, bonding them together with his own and then brings that clump to his lips. “Don't you know...” He rests his cheek on their hands, which makes Dean lift his eyes to look directly at Sam. “... I can't die.” He lifts up to touch Dean's cheek. “Not with my knight in rusted armor standing by.” He pouts, sticking out his bottom lip making Dean crack a smile or a smirk–he's wavering with both. Sam releases Dean's hands to simply pull Dean into his chest in a warm, comforting hug. “I know what you need...”

Dean buries his face into Sam's chest, willing to huddle in and hibernate. He closes his lids and sighs heavily. He's been wrong so many times– _this_... _being in Sam's arms_... is the kind of Heaven he would kill or die for.

**~~ &&~~&&~~&&~~...tbc...~~&&~~&&~~&&~~**


	5. Chapter 5

**A Single Thread**

**Chapter Five**

Gradually, Dean blinks his eyes open to realize early morning light is creeping in. That last bit with Sam... it was tough to come to terms if it really was a dream or a safe place inside Sam's mind they could spend time in. He lifts his head, noticing Gwen moving around in another area of the room. She's putting away laundry and linens.

Dean pushes the footrest in to sit upright, sending the recliner rocking. “God... don't you ever go to sleep?” He rubs a weary hand over his face.

“I'll sleep when I'm dead.”

Dean thinks that's something Bobby would've said. “oh-kay, then.” He stands to stretch, then looks over at Sam. Gwen has already rolled Sam onto his back. “—you should've woken me. I would've helped you with him.”

“It's really no trouble, Dean. I've been doing this for so long... I look forward to my quiet time with him. He's awake, by the way. I'm sure if you touch him, he'll respond.” Gwen rolls the old linen in her arms to take downstairs to the wash. “oh, uh... Bobby left about 6:30 this morning, or so, but he'll be back later today—probably not until supper. He says if anything changes to give him a call. Bathrooms are open—shower in the hall bath, master suite has a nice Jacuzzi tub. Take your pick.”

“Gwen...” Dean calls out to Gwen as he rounds the bedside closest to him.

Gwen pauses at the bedroom door, turning to look over her shoulder. “yeah...”

“I'm gonna need someone to talk to after I shower.” Dean simply leans on the bed-frame, dangling his hand onto the mattress. He can't seem to spare a glance at Gwen as he asks. “Can you—will you be around?”

Gwen smiles rather easily at Dean. “Sure, sweetie...” She already knows what the topic will be about, but wants to make sure her mind is on the right track. “Is it—is it something about Sam?”

“yes, but...” Dean swivels to lean on the mattress and cross his arms over his chest. He manages a lift of his head, tilting slightly when he looks at her with one eye exposed to her. “—I wanna talk it out with someone who has an objective mind. I'm afraid Bobby's just a little—you know...”

Gwen sighs as she gives one solid bounce to her head in complete understanding. “You never really know how much someone means to you until tragedy strikes. But yeah... I've noticed Bobby can be too willing to do what it takes for Sam, but then—at the time... all Sam had _was_ Bobby... I was just getting to know the kid.” She glances at the bed and smirks wistfully. “I don't know how I'll be once I see your brother in his true form. I care for him deeply... probably in that wasted life I sacrificed to my careers and didn't try to have a family... or at least a child.”

Dean straightens his neck, now able to look at Gwen directly. It's nice to talk to someone who understands what the life of a hunter causes one to sacrifice. “It's tough to have and hold on when hunting is in your blood.”

“Amen to that cousin.” Gwen leaves the room after that comment.

Dean twists around his torso to crack his back then slowly paces to the railing. Almost like magic, Sam lifts his right hand to clamp on the side-rail Dean nears. Dean uses his left hand to grip Sam's hand, then places his right palm flat to the belly. As Dean keeps Sam's fingers in his grasp, he runs his hands up the mid-chest to the deep V-neck of the new t-shirt he's been changed into. Sam starts to move his body, like he wants to move closer to the edge of the mattress where Dean rests. He brings his left hand up to cover Dean's hand on his chest.

Dean watches the head shift around on the pillow, the lips parting and an exhale of air faintly releasing with an audible word heard, “ _... dean..._ ”

Dean tries to hang over the railing, getting close to Sam's upper body. “yeah, it's me... that was quite a thrill ride you had me on last night—or early this morning.” He brings up a hand to caress Sam's cheek. “... sorry I couldn't get there sooner...”

“ _... i's... oh-hay..._ ”

“oh, really? Gonna let me off _that_ easily? I am, after all, your knight in rusted armor.” Dean smiles because Sam does and he turns his head in Dean's direction, those eyes never opening. Dean wishes he could see those beautiful brown eyes—he never knew how much he craved them until now. Well, until a lot of things at this point. He notices Sam fidgeting, opening his mouth to say something. “What? Come on... you can tell me...”

“. _.. m'sorrgh..._ ”

“... oh, god...” Dean bows his head because this is not what he wants to come out his brother. “... please don't—”

“... still 'ove... meh?”

“hmm, I don't know about that. Do I still love you? uhm...” Dean thinks he'll play it off like a tease but he realizes this is the _awake_ part of Sam's mind that has the innocence and self-doubt... the open friendliness—like a young child opening its eyes to the world. Dean rests his hand on top of Sam's new clean skull cap. “I never stopped, Sammy... an' I never will.” He waits a beat for Sam's reaction; Sam turns his head back, looking straight up and his left hand forms a fist over his heart. He keeps licking his lips and Dean notices a tremble in them and then the chin. Miraculously, a tear falls out of one corner of Sam's eyes. Dean brushes it away as he caresses the side of Sam's face. He loves watching the head lean into his touch, like it was an instinct.

Dean's beginning to become annoyed with the side-rail, so he lowers it and once he does he's looming over Sam on the pillow, then gives one of the most awkward hugs he's ever given Sam. But he feels the arms come around him, the hand reaching out to touch him to make sure he was real. Dean starts backing away and places Sam's hands on his face. “— go ahead... _touch me_... remind yourself what I look like.”

Dean softly laughs because Sam becomes Mr. Grabby Hands, poking him in the eye, sticking fingers in his nostrils and mouth. Sam is only being _Sam_ and then he takes the palm of his hand, turning it sideways to brush up and down a few inches from Dean's face. Dean starts to play around and blow air in Sam's face when the hand isn't covering the lower part of his face, which gives him some very interesting eye movements—like squinting.

It turns out to be like a “peek-a-boo” game, but it brings them close, more intimate. Dean lowers the bed so he can sit on the side of the mattress, his right arm extends and braces beside Sam's left shoulder. Dean closes his own eyes and uses the fingers of his left hand to find out how difficult it was to _not_ poke and stick fingers in places that hurt when he mimics the same game over Sam's face. Things get still and quiet between them, Dean's head shadows Sam's. Sam brings up his right hand and gently pounds a soft fist into Dean's chest, but as it becomes even more gentle and tender, the hand opens as Sam cups and shapes Dean's chest, then tugs on the shirt material.

Dean knows what's burning inside of Sam because it's starting to flicker inside of him. He leans over, pressing lips to an exposed inch of forehead, then kisses each eyelid. He bumps and traces noses and then his green eyes zero in on Sam's lips and his free hand's finger outlines their shape. Dean furrows his brow because he keeps having flashes of no-souled Sam... that feral, predatory way he looked and sniffed at Dean, but then he sees _Sam_ beneath him and he wants every bit of this part of his brother too. He doesn't want to choose, he wants _both_. There has to be a way to have them co-exist in Sam's mind.

Dean pinches Sam's chin between thumb and index finger lifting and tilting the head as he inches down to press mouths together. It was the sweetest kiss and he loves that Sam licks his lips when they part, biting at them as he slides a hand to cup Dean's neck. Dean covers Sam's hand, diving in for more, this time pressing longer, a little harder. It's Sam who wouldn't release, keeping Dean steady as he breaks the contact, but then breathes in to take another, deeper shot at a more intense kiss Dean has to stop because it's too much emotion and feeling all at once—for Sam “being present” in a very odd manner. He weakens and tucks his face in Sam's neck and shoulder, those arms aren't far behind from holding Dean as tight as his unconscious state will let him.

~~&&~~

Gwen sees Dean standing on her back porch, taking in the temperate breeze through the open screen windows. She really doesn't want to go out there, but has promised Dean she will be here to talk with. She steps out onto the porch, shutting the sliding glass door behind her.

“Wow, what a difference my routine is not being at the compound. I think my day got busier.” Gwen notices that Dean doesn't move except to nod his head. “You could've come into the room with me. Sam enjoys the exercises and... he kept turning his head to the door, like he anticipated you walking in at anytime.”

Dean turns his back, starting to pace. He folds an arm across his middle, laying the elbow of the other arm on the skin to keep the hand near his mouth. He has a nervous habit of biting at his thumbnail when he's in deep thought or contemplation. “I got 'in'—early this morning.”

“You got— _wait_... you mean...” Gwen thinks she knows exactly what Dean means, like the time Sam jumped into Dean's dream, or his mind.

“I fell asleep and I was able to enter his mind as I drifted off.”

“Seriously? _That_ quickly?” Gwen's impressed, because this means a helluva lot more than what she and Bobby had been thinking.

“I think I fucked it up.” Dean soothes the curl of his fingers over his thumbnail. “Sam died before I could reach him.”

“ _oh, whoa_... wha—?” Gwen figures she better sit down for the rest of this; she chooses the thick arm of a lounge chair. “ _jesus_... what did you find out?”

“I think I know where your two brain waves come from.” Dean settles his hands on his hips, making a hard turn at the screen-door to face Gwen. “There's the real Sam (Good) and then there's no-souled Sam, or the demon-side (Bad), but...”

“But— _what_?”

“There's a twelve year old Sam doing everything to find Good-Sam, bring him to safety and take care of him—putting him on the mend.” It sounds so strange to be talking about this as if everything was so real, so vivid. What's even stranger is how easily Gwen soaks in every piece of information. “I think Bad-Sam found out I was there and killed Sam before we could get to him.”

“So there's three Sam-s in his head.” Gwen's slowly nodding her head as she lets her mind wrap around the possibilities.

Dean holds up two fingers to stress his point. “Two, because the twelve year old Sam is actually the 'blessing' Bobby asked Castiel to place on Sam to bring him comfort.”

“ _oh, wow_... that's—fascinating.” Gwen averts her head to look out over her backyard, then swings back around to look at Dean. “So that's all he does?”

“That's his one task and he has to get it right each time.”

“Is it Good-Sam or Bad-Sam in charge?”

Dean rubs his palms together, picking up his pacing again. “It think it's Bad, but I was told to me that maybe the Good-Sam could be starting to like the daily torture. Like he gets off on it.”

“He _would_ , Dean.” Gwen rolls her eyes, knowing very well how convincing no-souled Sam can be. “He's the devil on your shoulder.”

“He's trying to reach Lucifer status—Bad-Sam is. I'm pretty sure, in Sam's mind, he will accept or has decided to accept his destiny in some aspect.”

“Even though he gave up his soul...”

Dean stops mid-stride and turns to look out the screened windows. “I think Sam simply believes he deserves this penance for the monster or freak he is... which feeds directly into his Bad-side.”

“Good God... that poor boy.” Gwen had some idea, long ago, that a lot of what Sam allowed himself to suffer was self-inflicted. Carrying this kind of burden or prophetic destiny didn't lead into a happier outlook on life. “We gotta get him out as soon as we can.”

“We need a pow-wow...” Dean turns sharply to face Gwen. “... with everybody, because I think I know where I can bring Sam to convince him he can beat this. That he _is_ stronger.” He averts his gaze to keep on thinking about how he will go about carrying out the task. “I only have to find a way to prove to him he can be _both_.”

“Like a Yin-Yang?”

“Exactly. He's ultimately 'good'—the real Sam. He wasn't born a demon. It's not his fault. It's not his guilt or shame to bear.” Dean reaches back to hook his thumbs in his back pockets. “He's instinctively good, so he can hone that demon-side to not feel tyrannical or that it has to dominate the world. Or, you know... reign over Hell.”

“We'll know more once we find out what Cas has learned, then see if Bobby's errands for today paid off.” Gwen tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “What was it like _inside_ Sam's mind?” She's not sure what she expects to hear, but she's still just as interested and invested.

“Hellacious, literally. He's always been creative, but, _jesus_...” Dean shakes his head, the tip of one shoe scraping the flooring of the porch as he recalls what it was like. “—the meticulous details to everything... smells, sights, sounds. It's not a place I want to live in, but I'll go there if it's the only way to get him out.”

“Should I try to reach Bobby to call him over early? Then we can talk and figure out when to summon Cas.”

“I'd rather use the dreams, but...” Dean is hesitant to use Castiel, only because he's not to certain of Castiel's motivations of late. “... if the only way in, to save Sam and keep him alive, is by Castiel's hands... then we'll use him.”

Gwen can detect there's something _else_ bothering Dean—something a bit more deeper and intense rattling him to his core. “You okay?”

“Wha—?” Dean knows his hesitation is a dead giveaway, and even though he's the one who asked Gwen to stick around to talk with he doesn't know if he can open up to her like he wants—or needs to. “Why do you ask?”

“I don't know. You're a bit calmer now. Not raging or excitable—needing to do things _now-now-now_...” Gwen remembers how Dean kept rubbing at his chest after that shorter visit by Sam. Dean seems fine, back to his old self, but there's still a way he's carrying himself that seems like he's weighing heavy with a secret. “... are you—do you feel _any_ different?”

“Kind of. It's mostly internally, with feelings and stuff. Nothing major or like side effects.”

“It's a bit much to take in, in such a short time. Not to mention the whole deal with soul mates and _split aparts_ —finding out you sexually arouse Sam...”

Dean closes his eyes as Gwen hits the nail on the head yet again. “It's not just _him_.” His tone becomes quiet, barely a whisper.

“huh? What do you mean?”

Dean flashes his eyes toward Gwen, then looks straight ahead. “Sam's not the only one feeling the pull toward—a _deeper_ intimacy.”

“oh...” Gwen hadn't expected this kind of answer from Dean, especially since he seemed so turned-off by the whole idea.

“—and now you know why I needed to talk to you, not Bobby.”

“—and despite what you think... I'm not disgusted or freaked out, Dean, so get that out of your head.”

Dean let out a small smile, wiping a hand over his mouth and lower jaw. “All right, I will.”

“I've seen it all, so I think I'm the least shock-able person you can confide in.”

Dean rubs at his chest. “I _feel_ him again— _in_ me.” It's not as weird a feeling as it was before; he's actually getting used to it. “Like I carried another piece of him out of that dream.” Dean watches Gwen nod her head, then go quiet and frown. “ _What_?”

“Maybe that's how you bring him out— _whole_.”

“How?”

“Through you.”

“Through—me?” Dean unsure how that's supposed to work.

“It's not unheard of, Dean. People have been known to die from their dreams. They're powerful things.”

“I know, I know... but I don't understand how I'm going to 'carry' his huge-ass body out—in me, into reality.”

Gwen folds her arms, tilting her head in a thoughtful angle. “What have you done in these dreams that makes you feel like Sam's a part of you, once you wake up?”

“Touch, mostly... an embrace... I held him... just random stuff, not truly intimate or sexual.”

“That could be the key.”

“What do you mean?”

“Soul mates aren't often romantic—like lovers. They can be friends, siblings, parents, relatives, friends, co-workers, mentors or peers...” Gwen's going off on information she's retained as she's done research over the past month. “—but there are break-aways off the soul mate chart. If you and Sam are _'split aparts_ '—which means you were once _one_ body—maybe the way to bring him back whole is to join those bodies—”

“ _NO!... just... no!... no-no-no-no-NO!”_ Dean has already decided in his head that was what he thought his _only_ chance to save Sam was, but hearing it come out of someone else's mouth just incensed him beyond frustration. _“No, Gwen... jus' no..._ ”

“Dean, settle down... _hey, hey, hey_...” Gwen walks over to wrap a hand around his dangling arm. “This is all theory at this point, and speculation. We'll know more once Cas tells us what he's found in those scrolls.”

“I'm not...” Dean hates that he sounds like he's outraged because it's Sam; but his reasons go much deeper than anyone realizes. “I can't—there's no way that could be the answer— _just no way_.”

It's the broken tone Dean uses that makes Gwen swallow hard, turning her own head away as she rubs at the flexing biceps. She's a little worried by such a passionate refusal to believe; there has to be more she's not being told. “Not even if it saves Sam's life? Puts his soul back to rights?”

“I've sacrificed a lot for Sam... stuff even he doesn't know. This would be— _just... god... fuuuck!..._ ” Dean storms out the back porch, letting the screen door bang shut behind him.

Gwen watches Dean for a while, then heads back to the house to make that call to Bobby.

~~&&~~

Bobby makes his way over as soon as he's done with his errands. Gwen has mentioned to him, over the phone, that Dean's out-of-sorts and he might be “touchy” about the subject of Sam. Bobby understands the comment too well, but probably even more because he has finished talking to and questioning some spiritual guides and trusted gurus—not a single one brave enough to touch a case involving _split apart_ soul mates. This heightened Bobby's curiosity to an unheard of degree. It was time to share what he knew with what Castiel had found out.

Bobby finds Gwen in the kitchen, preparing food for dinner. He shakes out of his long tan overcoat, having gone around in his FBI suit to make himself seem official so folks would talk to him. “Hey...” Bobby admits to feeling a little less tense every time he's around Gwen. She wasn't his usual type, but the more he got to know her, the more he wished he didn't like her so much. He doesn't want to fall in love with a Campbell and it had nothing to do with her being a hunter. It had everything to do with making himself vulnerable again to being easily malleable to let _Them_ know he could be weakened... that _They_ could get to him by using his feelings for Gwen. He notices Dean, all by his lonesome, on the back porch. “How long's he been doin' that?”

“Off-n-on all day.”Gwen spares a quick look to Dean, back to that old position of just standing still and staring straight ahead into nothingness. “He's been outside, he went upstairs for a bit. He's trying to come to terms with understanding what he might have to do.”

“Well... I wish I had better news to tell.” Bobby lays the coat over the back of a chair's rungs, then leans on the dining table ledge, using the chair for balance. “I couldn't get a single one of these experts to believe I had access to real live soul mates—especially ' _split aparts_ '. I got some laughs in the face; one of 'em kicked me out right away.”

“Yeah...” Gwen lets out a quick laugh, shaking her head. “Didn't Cas recall that those were rare for humans?” She's starting to feel like Bobby does about the fact of the impossible sometimes being more possible than once thought.

“They're more rare because over half the cases reported either one half or the whole entity had died.”

Gwen stops at the counter across from Bobby, standing still and staring like Dean was doing. “Too much energy?”

“Something like that. When trying to merge souls back, either one soul is too dominant and absorbs the other. Or when they form as one being again, it's too much for the human vessels to take. They get— _how do I say this delicately?_ —oh, yeah, I don't. They get burnt-up into a fiery crisp.”

“Ouch!” Gwen chuckles lightly with the shake of her head.

“Tell me about it.” Bobby folds his arms, rubbing at his perfectly brushed beard, then looks out at Dean. “There were also some reports of the soul mates lasting beyond their 'joining', but it was similar to conjoined twins and when they try to separate them...”

Gwen can almost finish the thought on her own. “One half becomes the weaker of the two.”

“But there's no, like... second or third chances of rejoining.” Bobby can't believe they only have one shot to do this right, not even accounting for mistakes. It's become a “do or die” situation. “So that the thriving half can at least take in the sickly one. It simply has to wither and die on its own.”

“ _jesus..._ ” Gwen scratches at her head, hoping she can think fast enough on her feet to come up with some kind of positive outcome. “This is not good news.”

“No, it's not.” Bobby softens his tone, hoping that Dean's far enough in his own thoughts he doesn't hear him. “Knowing the boys, if they had a choice... I'm not sure where they'd fall.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, both have sacrificed, both have died for one another... but on which extreme does it fall?” Bobby pushes off the table, heading over to take a stool at the breakfast counter to be near to Gwen. “So in love they don't mind what could happen when they try to merge into one? Or so desperate to stay together they won't try to merge for fear of killing the other and being alone for eternity.”

Gwen leans on the counter surface, leaning her cheek on one hand as she looks over at Bobby. She's also quieted down her voice to a near whisper. “I'm assuming, because you couldn't convince a single expert to come with us, that we are dealing with something even trickier than the supernatural.”

Bobby leans closer to Gwen, like he's gonna tell her a secret. “Something celestial and ancient enough in the spiritual world it's almost considered mythical.”

Gwen straightens, raising one eyebrow. “Like Loch Ness or Bigfoot.”

“Precisely.” Bobby gestures to Dean with his chin. “Give him about five more minutes, then call him in for dinner. We'll tell him all of this once he's been properly fed.” He twists off the cushions seat to head out of the kitchen so he can change back into his human clothes. The tie is already off his neck once he climbs the stairs to head to the second floor.

~~&&~~

They choose to summon Castiel once Dean is fully aware of what else he could be in store for.

When he appears, Castiel can see Bobby and Gwen but not Dean. “Where's De—?”

“I'm right behind you.” Dean is propped along the wall, needing to stand instead of sit. He has too much to process and knows Castiel's news will not make him feel any better.

“How's Sam?” Castiel barely flashes a long enough gaze on Dean before he's looking directly at Bobby and Gwen.

“Fine.” Bobby's the one who responds but it's with a curt tone.

Dean clears his throat. “Let's get this over with so we can figure out a safer way to get Sam back.”

“Okay... well, I just— _wait_...” Castiel swivels around to face Dean. “... what do you mean a 'safer' way? That implies that you've...”

“—yes, I can enter Sam's mind fairly easily in dreams.” Dean's nodding slowly, his eyes are averting to the ground as he talks. “But I doubt I had that ability before. I think Sammy started the ball rolling when he tried to come out and see me first.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Typical.” He feels like he needs to warn Dean that he's messing with power he can't understand. “Neither one of you seem to care about what dangers you face while doing this— _little dance_ you do with each other.”

Bobby's getting a bit unsettled by Castiel's need to lessen the thought that things are just what they are. Castiel's need to belittle the importance of humans is grating Bobby's nerves. “Oh, stop actin' like a jealous wife an' get to the point, Cas.”

Castiel clenches his jaw, averting his gaze from trying to get Dean to keep a steady eye on him. It's difficult to get a read on someone who refuses to look at you. “Promise me... neither of you will try such foolishness again without a professional guide who can— _properly_ watch over you.”

Dean finally lifts his chin, green eyes narrowing on wide blue. “What if it's impossible to stop?”

Castiel wrinkles his brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” Dean tucks his fingers into his front pockets, then paces past Castiel to head to the opposite side of the room, closer to the sliding glass door. “I simply fell asleep, then I was able to enter his mind.” Everything is closed up now, since the cold air has seeped in for the approaching night. Now Dean can lean his shoulder and side on the clear glass. “I didn't sacrifice a goat or chant or read scriptures. I shut my eyes and I was there— _sort of_.”

“You did NOTHING to provoke this?” Castiel doubts Dean didn't provoke Sam.

“I'm not gonna repeat myself. You heard me. Can we please get on with what you found?”

“It's not possible.” Castiel clenches his jaw then simply states his comment—which is actually his personal opinion.

“Excuse me?” Dean sputters out a hard snicker. He can't believe Castiel had the balls to sound that assured. It's sounds a little too “human” to him, rather than a truth or actual proof.

Castiel has suddenly come to realize he's not a popular guy amongst the trio. “There isn't any way human vessels can—there isn't any proof you and Sam could be _split aparts_.”

Bobby bites the inside of his cheek. “Just 'cuz it's _not_ possible doesn't mean it _isn't_.”

“I am only saying that...” Castiel pauses awkwardly, because he knows he might offend everyone in the room. “... there's no way you two could've... escaped out of your original form and randomly picked two vessels that happened to be prophecized to bring about the end of the world.”

“Why?” Dean's getting more upset and perturbed by the minute. “—'cuz humans are inferior to you celestial fuck-ups?”

“No... because you would've died, Dean... and Sam too.”

“Wait a damn minute here!” Bobby pushes back his chair to sit straighter and lean back so he can cross his arms in a stance of pride. “Now, from what I've been told, it's the re-joinin' that can kill them.” He crinkles his forehead in curiosity. “Are you saying they should've died _once_ they entered their bodies?”

“Yes.”

“But they _didn't_.” Gwen has tried to stay out of this conversation, but it's tough. She understands this situation from all sides. It's becoming a little too filled with testosterone—-well, from Bobby and Dean, and whatever Angels have that gives them the same confidence in their faith or beliefs to not back down.

“No.” Castiel has sense enough to look a little embarrassed that he has proof that it's possible and still doesn't believe.

“So what does that mean?” Dean turns to lay his shoulders on the glass now. “Sam and I are here _now_... Sam _needs_ me...” He shrugs both shoulders, holding up a hand. “—an' we simply _choose_ not to help because it's _not_ possible to believe?”

“It would mean one of two things.” Castiel has to walk away, pacing into the kitchen, but then turns to come back as he decides to reveal a few of the things he learned. “Either, when you two were born, the minute your souls were created, you were half of Sam already—you had a piece missing. Or...”

“Or— _what_?”

“Or you and Sam are the true _split apart_ s in human form.”

Gwen, Bobby and Dean really don't know how to take what Castiel has told them. It's actually something they already knew but then there's just a bit more inexplicable possibilities that don't seem plausible.

“And all this time— _what_?” Dean pushes off the glass and makes his way to stand in the center of the dining room, arms folded over his middle. “Has just been a fun little jaunt to carry out genuine fuckin' lives?”

“ _... jesus..._ ” Bobby turns away in disgust to swipe a hand over his face. “... is it like a damn _game_ to them?”

“Yet another way God and his precious Angels in Heaven screw us over,” Dean grumbles and rubs at his cheek in frustration.

“I don't think God had a hand in _any_ of this.” Castiel looks from between Bobby and Dean, then moves so he can face all three people in the room. “If the latter is true... then they are simply 'testing' God.”

“Sounds like they were trying to trap God... Angels... Demons... just about damn-near everything in their own web.” Dean narrows his eyes on Castiel. “These _split aparts_ are even more powerful than Angels, aren't they?”

“Yes.” Castiel doesn't look Dean directly in the eyes.

Dean keeps talking, “—this means... you've _all_ been under control of _them_ and _not_ God...” It's finally becoming quite clear to Dean exactly why Castiel thinks this theory is impossible.

“Maybe. Heaven's not happy with this news.” Neither is Castiel. He hates what this means for what he's been doing for this long already. “Apparently, you can't walk into the archives and read the scrolls for simple research. They have to know why you need to see them.”

“ _okay-okay_... I think this is something we need to address later.” Bobby swipes at the air to try and get rid of the elephant in the room. Everyone keeps forgetting about Sam. “Right now... we need to get Sam back. Do we know any way to bring him back... say, in a _normal_ manner? Like Dean goes in, takes Sam's hand... or holds onto him— _whatever_... and _presto_ , he's back in his body?”

Castiel feels it's more comforting to look at Bobby while he talks. He can feel Gwen and Dean's gazes digging into him, like they want simple answers to difficult, complex questions. “I'm afraid it's easier to get Dean there, but... it'll be tougher to bring Sam back.” He clears his throat, rubbing his chin as he glances at Dean then averts his head to the ground. “You have to be able to talk to Sam, convince him he's not— _not all bad, not all good_... he's _both_. That he can survive. He can learn to live as a demon, bring out that side if he needs it, but then he'll be able to return to his real self.”

“Sounds like I have to do a lot of convincing.” Dean furrows his brow in doubt. He doesn't even know if he has that much confidence in himself to convince Sam of anything. “Build-up his confidence and, uhm... self-esteem.”

“Right.” Castiel nods his head, only looking to Gwen and Bobby. “That is correct.”

“So this has no bearing on us being _split apart_ soul mates.” Dean chooses not to look at Castiel either, just talking into the air as he looks up at the ceiling as thoughts flow out of him. “I'm simply the only one who can enter his mind _effectively_?”

“ _What_? I'm sorry...” Castiel stares at Dean, then around at Bobby and Gwen. No one will look at him. “I don't understand what you're...”

Gwen speaks up, reaching out to touch Dean's arm nearby. “Don't, Dean. If it's not something that needs to be considered, I wouldn't bring it up.”

“But what if the first plan doesn't work?” Dean pats Gwen's shoulder as he talks to her, but means his words to go around the whole room. “What if he doesn't want to listen to me? Tired of me trying to force him to leave a place he thinks he belongs.” He turns to look at Castiel. “Then it's— _what_? By any means necessary? Knowing I'm Sam's other half, I would just... use that as my _only_ means to bring him with me to the surface?”

Castiel's gaze is concentrated on Dean's face, catching his eyes flashing. “You're talking about _merging_ your souls.”

“If it's my _only_ way...”

“ ** _No._** ” Castiel states the reply rather rudely, even shocking himself.

It's obvious everyone else is just as startled by his outburst.

Dean is infuriated the most. People telling him _not_ _to do something_ gives him more of an excuse _to do that very something_. “Excuse me?”

“No. I'm not sending you in there.”

Dean frowns for a bit, then he starts to realize a startling fact. “You don't want me to go... for your own personal reasons.”

Castiel is shaking his head form side to side as he talks. “It's not in any of the ancient scrolls that you're...”

“You care about me, admit it.” Dean raises his chin high, seeing that he's actually unsettled Castiel. It's not easy to do—to give him cause for uncomfortable pauses.

“I _can't_ care about you.” Castiel simple states the unwritten rules he's been told time and time again of his professional conduct. “I'm not supposed to feel _anything_.”

“But you do...” Dean paces closer to Castiel, rather stunned when he sees him take a few steps backward. “—and you just tried to gloss over the fact that you know _exactly_ what it'll take for me to bring Sam back with me.” He knows Castiel is aware of how much he loves and adores his brother, but Dean can't fathom why Castiel would even take a chance of refusing to help at this point in time. “You're only pissed I figured it out before you could try to fabricate a lie for my benefit.”

“I didn't lie.” For the first time, Castiel knows what being nervous feels like. “I—talking to Sam to convince him to return is needed, but... it's only if your bond is strong enough, that it works.” He flits his gaze to Bobby and Gwen who can't seem to look at him now. “And the only way to bring back Sam safely—with soul intact is if you carry him inside you.”

“But not like a brother...” Dean keeps walking closer, then once he's near enough he dips his head to catch Castiel's gaze. “— _like a lover_.”

“ _... yes..._ ”

“ _... oh, dear god..._ ” Gwen starts to cover her eyes only because it's that awestruck feeling of everything they thought as just theories and possibilities written down from the past and to now know it was true was just... a bit overwhelming.

Castiel bows his head in guilt and shame. “I'll need a few minutes to— _prepare_. I'll meet everyone in Sam's room... call me when you're ready.” He's gone with the sound of the flap of his coat.

Bobby's been closely watching Dean. “You really think you can do _this_?”

“I'm gonna have to, aren't I?” Dean is a bit stunned and rattled by Castiel acting like a... _human_ —and a jealous one at that. He swivels around to face Bobby and Gwen. “I mean, even you know how stubborn Sammy can be. And now we know how he reacts to my touch—my energy.” Dean is actually a little drained from that whole conversation. A bit more revealing than he was expecting. He takes a seat next to Gwen, with Bobby on his right.

“You're scared. I understand, Dean.” Bobby catches Gwen's gaze and they share a nod over Dean's bowed head. “Tell us you're not able to do this and we'll find another way.”

“They already fucked with his soul once.” Dean looks at Bobby with a slight smirk on his lips at one corner. “You think I'm about to put him at risk again just because—”

Bobby raises both eyebrows, unsure if his confidence from weeks ago is still as strong as ever. “It's a little more complicated than having to betray or kill your own brother.”

“If you're not comfortable with this Dean, we'll go backwards and we'll—we can go another route.” Gwen puts a comforting hand on Dean's biceps, then soothes her hand down over his forearm, wanting to grip and squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Try to grovel at Death's feet, maybe. Explain our situation...”

“Exactly.” Bobby nods his head once, folding his arms on the table's surface as he leans toward Dean and Gwen. “We can get him to tell us how we can reverse the process—then start all over again, the _right_ way.”

Dean shakes his head. “You two are making this too easy for me.” He narrows his gaze on both of them, his head volleying from one to the other. “You both knew already about this— _situation,_ didn't you? That I might have to—join my body—my energy... with Sam's?” He can already tell by their looks that he's right.

Gwen lets out a deep sigh, this time her hand goes right for the curl of Dean's fingers and squeezes hard. “We knew of some cases, but there was no _actual_ proof. Some were diary entries... others were documented scientific journals. Everything told in theory and tons of speculation.”

Bobby nods his head. “We didn't want to tell you right away, because we—well, I know how much you love Sam... how close and unusual your bond has been. I had to let everything sink in so I, myself, could believe it... until it all made too much damn sense.”

Dean bends his right arm and rest his chin in his palm as he glances at Bobby with a small grin on his mouth. “I appreciate the alternative route offers, but something tells me even Death will have a tough time extracting Sam's soul to put it back right.” He rubs hard at his chin, then leans back to look down at the table. Dean's been squeezing Gwen's hand in return, soothing his thumb over her skin. He chops his other hand down to stress points. “This whole 'wall' thing sounds a bit contrived and pointless.” Dean shakes his head in doubt and bewilderment. “Sam needs to integrate, to hone his demon-side so he can be that good hunter he was with Samuel. But more than anything, he needs to start taking control so he won't be that vulnerable again.” He clears his throat, able to convince himself that he thinks he can do this and not be scared off. “If I can help him, in any way, I wanna do it.”

“I hate sending you in so blindly and alone.” Bobby looks off to the side, hoping he can come up with a plan to “arm” Dean as he enters Sam's mind. If it's even possible for Dean to carry weapons with him. “I know you said you had a younger Sam to help you, but I'd like to send back-up, just in case. But... seeing as our way in is a little punchy at the moment...”

“Castiel's got the War in Heaven to deal with...” Gwen tries to smooth the rift that seems to be cracking between Dean can Castiel. “—I'm sure he's just scapegoating a lot of what he thinks he does or doesn't feel.”

“Can't believe he'd risk Sam for his own purpose.” Bobby's floored by Castiel's _human_ reaction. “That's not like him.”

“Hopefully, if I'm successful with Sam, I'll pull Cas aside and see what's going on with him.” Dean thinks he's saying the words to fill the air, not sure that the moment will actually take place. “For now, my focus _has_ to be on Sam.”

“Agreed.” Gwen nods her head on one bounce.

Bobby gives a thumbs up sign, then nods his head as well. “Let's get the boy back... an' then deal with the fallout.”

 **~~ &&~~&&~~&&~~...tbc...~~&&~~&&~~&&~~**


	6. Chapter 6

**A Single Thread**

**Chapter Six**

“Where in The HELL! did you get this beauty?” Bobby pulls out the small dagger with the scroll-work and inlay scripture.

“You'll never guess.” Dean should've known better; Bobby doesn't like to make guesses. “E-bay.”

“Seriously?” Bobby assumes Dean would've picked up the knife from another hunter or acquired it in the year he was away to keep “just in case”—because a hunter never truly quits the work, he simply hides from it better.

“No joke.” Dean recalls the way he found it, but realizes the long version is a bit boring. “Guy collected swords and blades for years. A simple enthusiast, nothing wonky.” He takes the knife back in its own leather case that attaches to his waistband or ties around his calf, if he wishes. Dean flips it around in his grip, before hiding it in its usual place on his body. “I saw this one in the picture of his whole collection, so I asked if he'd sell it separately.”

“Probably had no idea to its true power.”

Dean remembers a tiny anecdotal piece that Bobby will get a kick out of. “I think he mentioned he used it on his desk as a letter opener.”

“Christ... tha's funny.” Bobby softly chuckles, then stares at Dean, wishing he could go with him or send Gwen. “You think carrying a weapon with you is smart?”

“I'm takin' this knife and my boot one.” Honestly, Dean is hoping that Sam has places in his mind where there will be places he can go where he can find weapons. “I don't know that a sawed-off will do too much.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” Bobby dips his head, wiping a hand over the back of his neck.

“I'll be okay, Bobby.” Dean soothes a hand over Bobby's shoulder, rubbing over the back a little. “Hopefully, Cas was right an' he'll protect us as we go along.”

Bobby makes a face at the mention of Castiel's name. “I'd be more afraid he'd try to interrupt you, bring you back too soon.”

“I think I have a way of preventing that. Maybe I won't have to use it.” Dean can see Gwen fiddling with Sam, trying to make him extra comfortable. “He's gonna be fine, Gwen. I promise you.”

“This is dumb.” Gwen is fiddling with the hem of the linens covering Sam up to mid-chest. She's also making sure the machines he's hooked up to are working properly. “I shouldn't feel this way. I'm _not_ his mother.”

“It's okay if you do. Sam's been lacking motherly attention all of his life. It'll feel weird, but I know he's going to want it once he's back in his body. It doesn't end here.”

“I know, but—thanks for saying it out loud.”

Dean nods his head, taking a position on the recliner, kicking back the footrest. “You can call Cas now.”

With the sound of a flap of wings, Castiel appears. Like he was anticipating someone saying his name. “You ready, Dean?”

“I was born ready.”

Castiel approaches Dean as he stretches out his whole body and reclines. Castiel hesitates when he puts out his index finger and middle finger. All he has to do is close his eyes and press once. He can't help staring down at Dean, gaze intense and scrambling in his own mind to deeply apologize. He knows he's overstepped a boundary he wasn't supposed to—he should always remember his place in these kinds of connections with humans.

Dean's a little worried when he's not feeling any different. He can still hear Sam's bed and the other machines—Gwen has hooked Sam up to the EEG leads. Dean opens one eye and sees Castiel's gazing directly at him—more shame and guilt, probably an apology floating in there. He doesn't want to deal with it now; he's still pissed Castiel kept out of touch with him for a year and then he seemed to have totally abandoned Sam. Dean had never outright requested Castiel do any of these things, but still... he hadn't felt he _had_ to ask, that he and Castiel had some unspoken rules between them to simply just... _know_.

“We'll talk _later_.”

“Yes. _We will_.” Castiel presses against Dean's forehead...

… and Dean opens his eyes to find himself in the middle of a vacant warehouse room. There's a single bed, like in Bobby's panic room and around that whole area it looks like someone's bedroom. There are bookshelves, two dressers and a night stand. It looks a lot like how Sam's bedroom would've appeared had Winchesters lived in an actual home. There was a single paned window, with a shade drawn up and curtains pulled aside to look out at a night sky. Huddled on top of a toy chest was twelve year old Sam—the 'blessing' sent to comfort Sam. Legs are bent to the chest, his head lays on his knees as he hugs the limbs tight.

Dean slowly approaches, so as not to spook Little Sam. “Hey, tiger...” He uses that old nickname to remind Sam that he's here to help, not harm. He finds a spot to sit on the chest. It pains Dean to see even a fake-Sam cry. This is his favorite “look” of Sam's youth... when he knew his little brother was no longer an innocent—too adult to enjoy his childhood, yet still enraptured in the things around him. Dean reaches out to pet the hair, reminded of how soft and silky the straight locks had been. Little Sam pushes out his feet to gently kick Dean's thigh; Dean lays his hand over the two ankles. “I hope I'm not too late.”

“You're not late.” Little Sam gives off a tiny smile, looking shy. “I'm glad you came back.”

Dean gently touches his index finger along the flushed cheek. “So, uh... when do we head on out and go kick us some ass?”

“I was close, Dean.” Little Sam lifts his head, sticking his hands out to spread the fingers wide. “I had him right in my hands and then...” He sent his hands airborne to explain how Sam seemed to have vanished into thin air. “... then _he_ just came an' took him.”

“ _He_? He— _who_?” Dean thinks he already knows, but he wants to be sure.

“The _other_ Sam.”

“Ah...” Dean nods his head, throwing his arm to rest along the window sill's ledge. “... the one who already _thinks_ he's Lucifer.”

“yeah... that one...” Little Sam shakes his head, still in shock. “He—I just let him take him. I couldn't do anything—like the last time. He convinced me he wasn't going to hurt us. He only wanted to talk, but...”

Dean thinks it's really weird that Demon-Sam had come himself and not sent bodyguards. “He didn't send minions like he usually does? It was actually _him_?”

“Yes... and no, he didn't send his demons.” Little Sam turns his head now for his face to get caught in the moonlight. There's obvious dried tracks of tears on his cheeks. “He told me Sam would be better off in his keeping.”

Dean nods his head; his jaw is clenching like mad as he's come to realize that he's here for a greater purpose—no fun and games anymore. “It's not your fault.” He reaches out to smooth a hand over Little Sam's biceps. “He's... tough to resist.” Dean's trying to ease the guilt.

“I thought he'd hurt Sam if I didn't give in, but I really don't think it mattered.”

“No. It doesn't.” Dean looks ahead of him, staring off into a dark void beyond the carpeting of the faked bedroom. “He wants _me_.”

“huh?” Little Sam tilts his head in confusion.

“He wanted to be assured I'd show up. And he doesn't want me to take Sam away.”

“You mean—save him... take him away? Bring him back to his body?”

“Yes... _all_ that.” Dean clears his throat. “Did he say where he was going to keep Sam?”

“No, but I think he was aware you'd sense where Sam was.”

“ah, yeah... I'd probably have to close my eyes and just...”

“Wait!” Little Sam re-situates himself to sit on his bended knees, legs tucked under him.

“What?” Dean smirks because he sees the mischief alight in those familiar child-like hazel eyes that had used to drive him crazy.

“Let me help you.”

“What do you—?” Dean already shakes his head in disagreement, adamantly refusing. “ _No, no..._ I can't let you come with me. You've had enough for now.”

“No, you don't understand.” Little Sam clamps a hand around Dean's forearm, gripping tight. “I can help you in _another_ way. I'm not—I wasn't supposed to last this long here. I don't know how I'm still visible. Maybe Sam had something to do with it, but once he's saved and re-souled... there won't be any use for me anymore.”

Dean narrows his eyes on Little Sam's face. “How can you help?”

“I lay the blessing...” Little Sam presses his palm to his own chest, then onto Dean's. “... on you.”

“An' how do you do _that_?”

“Shut your eyes...”

“—and then _what_?” Dean feels the strong breeze pelt his face, then a shiver down his spine that gives him goose-bumped flesh. When he reopens his lids, he notices he's alone.

He was alone, but he wasn't in Sam's bedroom any longer. He's seated on a bed in a motel room. Bags are packed and everything is laid out as if on purpose. Next to him are a set of keys and a folded map; Dean knows all too well what he has to do. He steps outside and finds the Impala, then goes back inside the room to pick up the bags. There's too many for just himself. The extra bags have to be Sam's; it's like Sam knows already that he's about to be saved. Dean climbs behind the wheel and feels oddly uncomfortable, like he doesn't want to start the engine and begin the whole journey. But he forgets where he actually is; if he doesn't use the keys, the car will start on its own.

Dean lets out a laugh and a small grin because the radio turns on, blaring rock music from one of his old cassettes. It's just like Sam to give him whatever he wants, even when it's not what Sam wants. Sam knows Dean loves the Impala, knows he loves classic rock, knows he likes the long journey on an open road... the dot on the map to the next page of their lives. It's all simple gestures to a bigger picture. Sam loves him and, even when trapped in his own mind with no way to escape, he's doing whatever it takes to make Dean less nervous and angry.

Like as Dean's been learning about soul mates... and _split aparts_ , that Sam's finding out the same information. And Sam knows how weirded out Dean gets about men-on-men action... even a hint of two straight men in a bro-mance. He understands Dean's difficulty in coming to grips with what he has to do, what he'll sacrifice for them. Dean hates that Sam's forced to compromise and think of himself first, before letting Dean feel shame or guilt. Sam will make the choice, not Dean and that'll save Dean the bother.

But as he turns down the loud volume and simply lets his mind wander as he diligently follows the map's directions, Dean comes to a realization that not only has he stunted Sam's ability to love beyond him, but he's done the same for himself. It's not even that he knows he's the only one who can protect Sam, it's as if he knows he's the only one who can love Sam. It's a simple fact to admit and it doesn't disgust him or make him cringe. This is possibly how he's always felt.

If it's only because they're soul mates and Sam's his other half—fine, whatever. Dean knows he's going to do what he has to do because he loves Sam and he wants him alive and well, always by his side. Nothing, and no one, is forcing him to decide anything—it's how he feels and what he wants to do.

~~&&~~

Following the precise directions given to him, Dean makes it to his destination within the half-hour. He doesn't know if he has a time limit or if he's expected. But he's sure not going in empty-handed. He climbs out of the Impala and closes the door to walk around the rear and open the trunk. He's hoping Sam's mind is so full of details that he'll open the lock and have several choices to pick from. Dean wants to go in lock-n-loaded—a bit of a distraction from what he's really armed with.

Dean has to laugh because Sam had the trunk organized to the hilt; it looks like something out of James Bond. He gives Sam props for making him smile beyond his fears and frustrations. Dean grabs for the usual sawed-off, grabbing for a nice Glock to slip at his back, between his lower spine and his waistband. He takes the bag with extra ammo, more guns and a salt with lighter fluid—matches and a lighter, he knows where to look inside the bag.

As he shuts the trunk lid, he notices the front door to the house is wide open now... an invitation to wander inside. Dean does with a certain swagger to his hips as he carries the shotgun flipped upside down on his shoulder. He feels like he's been here before and he's even more sure when he climbs the porch, nears the doorway and crosses the threshold. It's exactly where he was before with no-souled Sam. Nothing's changed—except Dean is alone. He sets the bag down, near a plant along the high wall, then carries the sawed-off in both hands. Dean's going to pace until Sam comes out. He starts doing annoying things, like picking up expensive knick-knacks, fragile ceramics and not putting them back in their places; he tilts artwork on the wall; he's even trying to leave black scuffs from his rubber soles on the floor—rubber and ivory marble to not mix well.

Finally, HE surfaces. Not floating down the staircase, but coming around a wall and walking up a set of small stairs from a sunken living room. Sam's dressed—or not dressed—in an expensive dark-red pajama get-up. It's a pair of slacks and matching hip-length robe. The robe is tied, but drapes open to show the bare chest. The tattoo above Sam's heart peeps out—the one that matches Dean's. Sam's wearing soft loafers that could be slippers but they click-click on the flooring and allow him to glide along like he has the grace of a dancer or the predatoriness of a lion... Dean's not sure. He needs to look into those eyes.

“Sammy said you'd come. I didn't even have to—beg.” Sam's carrying two tumblers of alcohol. He hands one to Dean, wanting to clank the glasses together, but Dean refuses. Sam can detect the whiteness of Dean's knuckles as he squeezes the glass. “Don't worry... dousing your beverage is beneath me. Go ahead... drink up... and come and join me... ahhh, join—us!...”

At the mention of an “us”, Dean's senses heighten and when Sam turns his back, Dean throws the alcohol in the plant soil, setting the glass on a small table near him. He walks over to pick the bag off the floor, then wanders over to the wide archway that leads to this private chamber. Dean steps down the five stairs, then hooks the bag on the post of the railing. He's still brandishing the sawed-off like it's an extra arm. He enters the sitting area, moving beyond the burning fireplace and finds Sam simply standing still, looking at a wall of historical artwork. It's all of battles and wars... massacres and bloodshed... there's not a single portrait among them. The weird thing is... there are certain male figures in each canvas that look like Sam; Dean starts to wonder if these were the atrocities his brother had to face in The Cage.

“This one is my favorite.” Sam walks directly to the wall, reaching up to finger the gilded framework. “Look at him... the beautiful agony... the intense longing in his eyes, like he's calling out for— _you_.”

Dean only takes a small glance at the art and feels like it actually moves. He hates that, like when a portrait's eyes feel like they're moving around the room, following your every action.

Sam swivels to look at Dean across the room. “Such devotion your Sammy has... to actually believe you have the strength... and the courage, to save him... to win his soul back...”

“I can still do it.” Dean's resolve isn't going to crack, not this time.

“hmm... I bet you _think_ you can...” Sam takes a long sip of his drink, eying Dean up-n-down then admires his... gun. “I love that you brought your favorite— _toys_ with you.” He paces close while Dean remains stationary. Sam reaches out with one hand and caresses the wood, then the gun metal. “mmm... this one's always been my favorite as well, but...”

Dean didn't expect Sam to be able to snatch his neck from behind that quickly in one hand, then rid him of his Glock at his waistband. “ _... jesus..._ ”

“Eh, sorry... He can't help you in here...” Sam seems taller as he dips Dean in his hard grip, so every word said to him is almost barked in his face. “... an' neither can your poor, wittle defense-wess Sammy...”

Just as Sam says the words, a wall drops, or opens... and Dean can see from the corner of his eye that there's a cage. It's a designer cage; it looks like a human-sized birdcage... and hanging by his arms, strapped to a dangling metal bar from chains... is the real Sam. He's naked, shivering and stripped bare of everything, even his dignity. He's unconscious and limp, legs are curled under him as he's allowed to reach the floor.

“... you... _mon-ster_!”

“— _tsk-tsk-tsk_... big bro...” Sam soothes the back of a finger along Dean's lips as if to shush him to silence. “I'm _your_ Sammy as much as that weak little bitch is...” He uses his head to gesture backward to Sam in the cage.

“What do you want?” Dean sneers at Sam, trying to keep his gaze steady as he keeps wanting to check on the slumped form in the cage.

“Easy...” Sam releases Dean's neck, then takes the sawed-off to throw it away so it lands on the softness of cushions. “... I hear _you_ are the _only one_ who can save him...” He backs up, then straightens the robe material that has become crooked from being rough with Dean.

“yeah...” Dean backs up an inch or two, creating distance from Sam and this weird sense of “attraction”. “... what of it?”

“I will give you your— _precious_ Sammy, but you have to do _one_ thing...” Sam nears Dean, a second time, smiles broadly when he's managed to trap Dean into one position, then trails one finger down Dean's face and chest. “... before I let you near him.”

“What?” Dean can only imagine what no-souled Sam wants from him.

“Kill him.” It's said so simply that Sam wonders if he might have to repeat himself.

That wasn't hard to respond to at all; Dean thought it would be a much worse request and he wouldn't be able to refuse. “No.”

“Not with a gun, silly... _with your body_...” Sam smirks as he prowls around Dean, doing a complete circle around him as he remains standing still. “I know _what_ you and he are. That... if you _take_ your little brother into your body, or you into his—you choose which position you like... he's likely to die. And if he dies, well— _wha-la!_...” He flourishes his hands, then circles them around him to point out the lovely “home” he's made for himself. “I have more room here to build my home away from home.”

Every time he's here, Dean has these ideas that no-souled Sam has this little secret he keeps to himself, only to toy with Dean incessantly. “That was you, coming through Sammy when I touched him...”

“Well, yes... and no. I granted him the freedom to 'feel' whatever he wished.” Sam's coming from behind Dean, then swivels to look directly at him, making sure he blocks half of the view of the cage. “And, sorry, that was all _his_ doing. Though I really was fascinated to know exactly what you did to get him to—he had quite the reaction down here...” He reaches out to tug on Dean's jacket and shirts. “... erotic and... breathtaking—your little Sammy leaves me quite rattled when he comes for you...”

“ _... shut. up...”_ Dean turns his head away in disgust, but not at the idea of being intimate with his brother. _“... shut, the fuck. Up!_ ” He hates that he feels so vulnerable and easily susceptible to no-souled Sam's eerie charms.

“Ah, see... I thought you might react this way.” Sam quickly retreats over to make himself another drink, then makes his way back over. “But you'll be happy to know, he's _very_ willing.”

“Excuse me?” Dean follows Sam's every move with his whole body. Now his back is to the cage.

“He's ready to die— _gladly_.” Sam threw back his head on a long swallow. “And if it happens to be in your arms, all the better.” He wipes a finger under his bottom lip to catch moisture as he bites the soft skin. “I mean, sweetheart, look around you.” Sam's hand draws circles around his head, mostly meaning more than just this room, but the entirety of real Sam's mind. “Sam can be kind of a drama queen...” He faces the cage, then sticks out his lip in a pout. “—awww, just look at him...” With the flourish of invisible speed, Sam forces Dean to swivel and look directly at his broken and weakened brother in the cage. “... look at his battered and bruised body... all those muscles straining, dripping wet with sweat...” He's speaking directly into an ear, standing directly behind Dean as he purrs the words in a low timber. “—he's every girl's romantic fantasy... or a dirty man's wet dream... _look. at him_... _really_ look at him and see what he's willing to suffer for you. So desperate for your love and affections, so willing to hand over his very soul— _so take it_...” He's no longer watching the cage, but side-glancing at Dean, looking down at his body as it responds to his closeness. “—you know you want it—you know you want him. You've wanted him inside of you from the minute you saw him as a man to be well-matched... still young and in his prime. You let go of him, telling him he needed to get a life away from you—away from your father. But it was you running from him... hiding away your shame because you disgusted yourself.” Sam spews the venom directly into Dean's ears. “How could you love your own brother? How could you want him so badly you burned nightly to taste him?... such a macho bad-ass mother-fucker who wants to bang his own brother...”

Dean turns around and grabs the loose lapels of the silk robe and slams no-souled Sam into the nearby wall. He's shocked by his own strength, but he's pretty certain it's because of Sam's remnants still resting in him. “ _Stop... the fuckin' lies! Stop twisting... around the truth!_ ”

“Truth or not, Dean...” Sam's releasing a sinister smile. “... you're starting to wonder yourself, trying to think back all those years just to make sure I'm not lying.”

“YOU want it to be the truth. NO! You _need_ it to be the truth, 'cuz that's what _you_ thrive on.” Dean hates being confronted with his own feelings, especially when he isn't able to understand and come to grips with them himself. He's not prepared for anyone to poke fun at him or use these new feelings against him. “That's all you see. I'm not gonna fulfill your dirty perversions.”

“Not even if Sammy begs you for it?” Almost with the snap of his wrist, no-souled Sam wakes up Sam in the cage.

“ _... Deeeannn... dean, please... dean-dean... I need you... dean..._ ”

Dean pushes off from Sam, giving him a look of such rage and disgust; he can't bear to look anymore, so he tears out of his jacket and runs toward the cage. “ _... sammy... I'm here..._ ” He can fit some of his body but not all the way through the spaces of the cage's bars. He throws Sam his jacket, managing to cover his legs. “—don't listen to him, Sammy... I'm gonna get you out of this, but not because he wants me to...”

“... _who_?” Sam a bit confused by who Dean could mean as he lifts his head to glances through the iron bars.

Dean glances over his shoulder to see that the room is empty. “Sam... _sammy_! Open this cage... let me in... let me help you...”

“Is it true, Dean? Can you kill me?”

“Yes, but... it's also possible for _you_ to kill _me_ —for us to die together. Did he tell you that?” Dean sees Sam lift his bloodied head, looking at him through dangling dark bangs soaked with sweat and blood. “Yeah, I bet he didn't. He's been lying to you all this time, Sam. Look at me... _sammy, please, for God's sake, look at me_...” He fits himself further between the bars, grabbing onto a foot. “Trust me only. Listen to my voice. Just me. Don't—don't let him win. Not today, Sam. Not ever.”

“I'm sooo tired, Dean...” Sam sounds beyond exhausted. He's tired of his whole life.

“I bet you are. Free yourself. Let yourself go an'... unlock this door so I can reach you...”

“... 'm sorry, Dean...”

“Not now. We deal with that later. Now? We get you out and free from this self-imposed cage... sound good?”

Sam lets out a light chuckle, feeling slightly ashamed. “... soun's very good...'

“You gonna open this door or make me go all Fourth of July and blow the fuckin' lock off... 'cuz you know I will...”

“Don't...” Sam shakes his moist, matted shaggy hair. “... jus'... move back a little... I don't know where this blow-back will fall...”

Blowback? What in the hell could Sam mean?

Dean gets off his knees and walks backward. He watches Sam lift his head, closing his eyes and—it looks like he's concentrating on something.

The Cage starts to rattle, the door with the lock shakes in the opposite direction and then there's a nice, loud, reverberating explosion that rocks the whole house and foundation...

~~&&~~

“Bobby?!”

“Yeah?!”

“He's spiking!”

“What in the world?” Bobby rises from where he's seated. He stands at Sam's bedside, hand on Sam's leg under the blankets. “Christ! I wish I knew which Sam that was.”

“Let's hope it's the Good one.”

Bobby spares a glance toward Dean, noticing the permanent frown on the lax face. “I know that Winchester scowl anywhere.” He has to smile despite the crazy-fast beats of his heart. “I think the boys'll be on their way home.”

~~&&~~

Dean hadn't expected the whole cage to blow apart, for the locked door to be barely sagging by its hinges. Sam still hangs from the metal bar, when the smoke clears and he stops inhaling iron fillings. Sam tugs hard on each end of the bar to free his chains from the top... then he collapses, curling into a fetal position.

Finally, Dean finds a moment to race over. “It's me, Sammy.” He squats down, holding his hands up defensively. “It's really me. Not a figment of your imagination.”

“I know.” Sam drags over Dean's jacket and huddles underneath. “I'm sooo cold...”

“Will you let me touch you?” Dean creeps closer with each word, his arms extended beyond his body to touch Sam first. “I'll get you outta this dump.”

“uh, yeah... where you wanna go?”

“Wha—? I'm not sure I understand.”

“This is _my_ dream— _my mind_. Tell me where you wanna go an' I'll take us there.”

“Anywhere. Away from here... an' alone.”

Sam untucks for a bit, reaching out to take Dean's hand close-by. “Close your eyes.”

Dean does exactly that... and squeezes Sam's hand...

… he shoots upright in bed the minute the alarm goes off. He looks to his right and sees the empty bed. He glances to his immediate left and feels the cool spot on the mattress. The shower runs in the bathroom and by the time Dean rolls over to sit on the bedside... the water stops and the door opens to admit Sam through a billow of steam. He's wrapped in only a towel and walking nonchalantly over to his bags.

“Thanks for bringing me a change of clothes.” With his back to Dean, Sam drops the towel to show bare ass then dons a pair of tight boxer briefs along with a pair of thin cotton drawstrings pajama botoms. He hurriedly slips his arms through short sleeves, dipping his head to fit the V-neck t-shirt over his naked torso. He'll use the towel to dry his hair more.

Dean can't stand watching Sam flitter around the room in eerie silence. “We _need_ to talk.”

“Yes.” Sam nods his head. “We do. I just don't know where to start.” He stops in the middle of the room, finding it more interesting to start folding his dirty towel.

“We're safe here. I know that much.”

“We're always safe here... especially when we're together.”

“Don't say that.”

“Why not? It's true.” Sam frowns, then narrows his eyes on Dean. “You can't forgive me for this past year.” He faces his back to Dean as he wanders over to set the towel down on a counter. “Not even when you know it wasn't me.”

“He was you.” Dean moves back to sit a little sideways on the mattress. “They keep telling me that. Just without a soul.”

“So that's it?” Sam leans back to rest along the counter ledge. “I get blamed for his actions when I had no idea... well, maybe you think I had to have some idea, I guess. Like I was still connected to my body.”

“I know you weren't. I couldn't—feel you or sense you. It's why once the year was over, I wrote you off as dead.”

“Phone works both ways, Dean.”

“I know.”

“But I suppose that's moot compared to _you and your—_ ** _suffering_**...” Sam bows his chin to chest, letting his arms dangling along his thigh; his fingers start entangling and playing with his fingernails.

“DON'T...” Dean puts up a hand, palm out, to stop Sam from speaking any further with that tone or frame of mind. “... do this...”

“Why not? It's what you do.” Sam lifts his head, folding his arms around himself, arms wrapping about his torso in a self-hug. “It's what we always do. Compare notes and contrast our experiences. _'I sacrificed a lot—no... I sacrificed more... Dad loved you, but he hated me—no, Dad didn't love me enough, but he loved you more'_.” He does a quick shake of his head, giving off a painful smile. “You've seen glimpses of my Hell... why don't you share some of your time— _oh, wait, no... nope...”_ Sam shakes his head in sorrow that he hasn't been let in as close as he could be to Dean's feelings or emotions. “Can't do that 'cuz Dean needs the open wound to stay fresh and fester more so he can bitch and moan, then brood, lookin' all mysterious and dangerous... _he's_ on the edge... _he's_ dark and demonic...” After all these years, Dean still doesn't trust him enough to “let him in”.

“—are you done?”

“Maybe.” Sam shrugs one shoulder, then the other. “I don't know.”

“Why don't we agree to disagree—we won't ever know what the other suffered in our own special Hells.”

“Fine.” Sam shoves off the counter, then walks around the room to the space between their beds. “Maybe you're right.” He turns off a light, heading toward the other bed.

“Wha—? What are you doing?” Dean is stunned because this is a clear sign Sam is done talking for tonight. “I'm still talkin' to you...”

“Oh, _you_ can talk, if _you_ want...” Sam untucks the sheets to pull them back so he can crawl under them and settle down to sleep. “I just don't wanna hear you...”

“You don't wanna hear me?” Dean moves backward to hit the headboard, his head twisting to Sam. “Do you know _why_ I'm here? Huh? Do you know _what_ I did to get here?”

“Yes. I know all this, Dean.” Sam speaks on a slow sigh. “I'm not stupid... or blind... or deaf...”

Dean rolls onto his side, bending his right elbow to rest his head on as he can look directly at Sam's form on the bed. “So you know I'm here to save you, take you back to your body so you can be... 'fixed'...”

“Yup... re-souled the right way and all that bunk... yeah, I know.”

Dean shuffles across the mattress to sit on the other bedside. “What? Now you _don't_ wanna be saved?”

“I want to be saved...” Sam is half on his right side, half on his back. He rests for a minute on a pillow, then turns a bit to look over at Dean in the shadows of moonlight and streetlights. “I'm not to sure YOU want me to be saved.”

“uhm...” Dean sticks out one ear to hear these shocking words again. “... you wanna run that by me again?”

“How exactly do you plan to save me? You're just gonna hold my hand or tell me to hold onto you an'— _presto!_ —your Johnny Angel's pulling us both out of the abyss an'— _what?_ What do we do next?” Sam tugs his body upright a little then relaxes on pillows and headboard. “How do we get this damn nuisance of a broken soul back in me?”

“I don't know.” Dean leans forward, elbows on thighs and looks down at how he's fretting with his hands; his left hand—-the thumb—is rubbing a hole in the center of his right palm. “I was hoping by now Cas would've found an alternative method.”

“You know a way I can get back, but...” Sam crosses his arms again, then soothes a hand up and down his biceps as if he still feels the ravages of what his mind has done to him all this time. “... you're either not choosing to do it or it's disgusted you to a point where you simply ignore it.”

Dean can't lift his head to look at Sam. “You know _everything_?”

“About?”

“Us.”

Sam scratches at his scalp for a minute, his mind whirring through thoughts and memories. “I heard a few things being discussed around me, but... no, I don't know— _everything_.”

Dean coughs, clears his throat, straightens, then leans his arms back to brace his body as he leans on them. “We're soul mates.”

“Yeah, I got _that_ part.”

“—but we're a _specific_ kind of soul mate.”

“oh-kay...” Lifting a lone eyebrow, Sam wonders why Dean is finding it so difficult to talk.

“—called _split aparts_...”

“mmm-hmm...”

“So apparently, we _can't_ be those kinds because that would mean we were once a celestial body.” Dean stunned when Sam doesn't bark a laugh in his face; he takes the fact in stride.

“Like a star?”

“Like an angel, but like a _super-mega-ultra angel with turbo boosts_.”

Sam chuckles deeply, shaking his head. “So we were better, stronger and cooler than these average dick angels?”

Dean rubs at his chest, chuckling deeply because he knows that this is the real Sam, as clear as day. He leans on one hand, crossing his ankles in a relaxed fashion as he stares over at Sam. “Yeah, I think we were. Now, we're either _split aparts_ who entered our human vessels at separate times of our births or... one night we were just ganked by these a-hole entities...”

“Sounds lovely.” Sam sits upright, back straight. He draws his knees up, arms wrapping around them. It's a move he used to do as a kid that he still does now. “Powerful angels... with a lot of energy... we would've—could've...”

“Exploded or imploded. It wouldn't have been pretty.”

“ _Christ!_ How did Castiel take the news?”

“uh, not well. And I think he's kind of 'in love' with me.”

“Well, duh...” Sam snickers at the face Dean makes at his words. He can't believe Dean didn't know or even fathom. “... you treat him like shit and he bows at your feet.”

“Don't...” Dean holds up his hand for Sam to stop before he starts mercilessly teasing him. “... even go there. I'm not too happy with him for dropping me—and you—off his To Call list.”

“He— _what_?” Sam finds the reason silly and lame, which makes him laugh outright.

“Never mind.” Dean swipes his hand in the air for them to proceed with what they were talking about. “Moving on... so if you and I are these _split apart_ soul mates, the only way I can safely bring your soul back is if we, uh... _merge our souls_... _our energies_...”

Sam's mind has been turning over things he's learned over the years in school, facts and knowledge he's retained. “Sounds like Zeus in Greek Mythology who believed soul mates were once one—four arms, four legs, two genitals... they were asexual beings and androgynous.” He can see Dean's confusion, and horror, set in. “They're supposed to have both male and female parts, then the parts they create as one. Zeus felt intimidated by what they stood for so he struck them with a lightening bolt and split them apart, forcing the male and female halves to spend eternity finding their missing pieces.”

“Lovely... an' heartwarming.” Dean made a face of annoyance. “How the hell do you hold onto this bullshit?”

Sam gives off a tiny smile, used to Dean browbeating him for being smart. “What did your research find?”

“Cas turned up bump-kiss, then tried to lie to us about the only method we could bring you back, safely and intact. He kept saying you and I can't be _'split aparts_ ' because... well, he was working off hurt feelings. But Bobby was able to learn that some _split aparts_ have existed, just not recently. And proof is very flimsy. When the souls tried to merge, the weaker one was absorbed or... something like conjoined twins—the sicker one dying off. You only get one chance to rejoin—so you have to get it right the first time...”

“No 'do overs'...” Sam stares ahead as he takes everything in.

“Nope...” Dean has expected some type of reaction from Sam, just not this cool, calm acceptance. “... no 'do overs'...”

“So if we take the male-female soul mate prophecy an' apply it to us— _to merge as one... one soul, one energy... we'd need to have sex..._ ” Sam turns his head and leans his chin on the left biceps and shoulder joint to look directly at Dean.

“See— _why_ —? _Wha—_? How do _any of you_ find it easy to say and think?”

“I don't know.” Sam shrugs his shoulders. His gaze narrows more on Dean's body language, not the words said. “Why are you so opposed to the idea? Does it disgust you?”

“I'm not sure why I oppose of it so strongly...” Dean straightens his body, tucking his hands between his thighs. “—well, I thought I was—I can't believe it's our only way.”

“Well, think of _this_... we can only see angels—or demons—when they manifest or take over human vessels. I doubt angels look exactly like how they're shown in artwork or pictures, in TV or movies... you could almost say they're a light or at least an entity that has no shape. Or maybe they're like our idea of aliens—glowing translucent beings with long-ish arms, three fingers and a tail...”

“ _—a tail would be really cool..._ ” Dean likes to let his mind wander when he's nervous.

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean's silly interruption, but it's typical. “If the _split aparts_ are higher on the food chain than Angels and Demons—”

“—and God...” Dean thought he should throw that out there, because that's probably what pisses Castiel and the others off.

Sam tries to hide a smirk on his lips as he leans into his arm. “Seriously?”

“This is according to my no-good lying stalker angel... so take it with a grain of salt.”

“Okay, so...” Sam holds out a hand, then counts off with the other hand's fingers what they know so far. “—we had no body parts... no faces, no lips, no fingers, no legs, no toes— _nothing_... so merging wasn't something unheard of—we didn't have to make a choice on with how to go about it.”

“Or think about non-stop.” Dean mumbles the words under-breath.

“What's really worrying you?” Sam lifts up one side of his mouth. “Performing?”

“Oh, god... THIS, right here, is hell.” Dean covers both eyes with a hand each. “This is our special hell together.” He draws down the hands along his face to land on his jawline, pulling at the skin.

Sam crawls out from under the sheets, sitting on the side of the bed. “Do I scare you— _still_?”

Dean drops his hands. “ _What_? No... you don't scare me at all. Not even in your Hugh Hefner demon-wear.”

Sam looks a bit demure, if not slightly embarrassed by the idea of him wearing anything like that. “I didn't do that. _He_ did. I told him it was tacky and bit... too much.”

“He's... adorable.” Dean can't help but smile at the memory, because he's thinking about _this_ Sam wearing it. “He's like... well, he's nothing like you, and he can't ever be you. Nor is he stronger than you unless you give in to him.” He takes an index finger and motions toward Sam. “ _This_ —you, right here—with me? This is you. This is Sam... this is the strong dominant side who deserves to live, so stop it. Stop torturing and punishing yourself. Set yourself free so you can be re-souled or reborn... or restarted— _whatever_ we gotta do to keep you alive and kickin' some supernatural ass.”

Sam lifts up one side of his mouth in a slight quirky smile with a soft snort. “Thanks for the pep talk, but isn't it a little too late when you're already throwing in the towel, making the decision for both of us?” He pats his upper thighs, right around his knees, soothing along the soft cotton material. “Face it... it's nice talk to build up my self-esteem, but you saying 'no' to me—to us—reiterates to me how much you _don't_ want me...”

“—but I do...” Dean holds up his finger to state his point.

Sam shakes his head in denial. “No, you don't.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No. You _clearly_ don't.”

“Did you hear me? Awhile ago?” Dean' becoming a little ticked off by Sam's refusal to listen. “I fuckin' do.”

“Yes, I did hear you. A huge ' _F-U Sam, because Dean doesn't want you_ ** _that_** _way... even if it means saving your soul_ '...” Sam gets so frustrated he stands, beginning to pace in between the space of their beds.

“Sammy...” Dean hates this because Sam is too tall to keep craning his neck back, lolling his head to-n-fro.

“Dean...”

“ _... bitch..._ ” Dean mutters with the shake of his head.

Sam stops, but doesn't turn around as he states over his shoulder. “ _... jerk..._ ”

“Will you stand fuckin' still!” Dean attempts to reach out and grab for Sam's arm, catching a wrist and tugging.

“Stop pulling on my arm like I'm a fuckin' child!”

 **~~ &&~~&&~~&&~~...tbc...~~&&~~&&~~&&~~**


	7. Chapter 7

**A Single Thread**

**Chapter Seven**

Dean looks at his hand around Sam's wrist. It turns into a hard grip of his whole hand on the forearm. “I thought you were dead.” He doesn't want to stop touching the warm skin, reminded that his brother is still very much alive and kicking.

“I probably almost was, but I'm not.” Sam pats Dean's hand then gently scrapes it off to walk away toward the middle of the room.

Dean quickly bounces off the bed to follow. “But, see, you are, because—topside, your body is just a body. There's stretches of time where you're _you_ —where we all 'see' Sam come through...” He's using his hands extensively to show how nervous and scared he is; he over-exaggerates moves in order to try to grab Sam's attention. “... where I can tell you're in there, but you refuse to come out...”

Sam stands in profile, letting shadows surround him as he keeps his head bowed. “—it's because you don't _want_ me.”

Dean shakes his head, choking on an emotion deep within his gut. “God... _dammit!_ If you need me to repeat myself, I'll say it again. _I want you_... Sam, **_I want you_**...” He paces over to make a fist in Sam's shirt material, able to finally turn Sam around to fully face him. As he does, Dean latches onto the arms right at the bend of the elbows. “ _... jesus..._ I fuckin' _need_ you...” It's a desperate plea off his lips as Dean wearily collapses against Sam's chest, feeling himself folded in those strong arms. He turns his head to start talking against the cotton of the t-shirt. “I watched you fall, dragging Adam into that pit. I don't know how I got to Lisa's, I just drove. I hated you for making me go to her.” Dean snorts out a laugh as he shakes his head and moves to face forward so now his forehead brushes against Sam's upper chest. “Boy did I try... I _tried_ to keep _hating_ you... instead, I hated myself by being so gullible.”

“... typical...” Sam leans his head against Dean's face, then turns to bury his lips in short blond strands.

“I couldn't hate you, knowing what you did.” Dean pressing hard, shifting his forehead to lean on Sam's neck and shoulder. “Knowing how you saved us, but that... _you saved me_...” He's been able to think of that moment, over and over again, this past year. It's time he admitted it to the person who needed to hear it that it's how he thinks now.

“Be glad it wasn't you that fell in with me.”

“I wanted it to be.” Dean's content resting here, feeling Sam's head rest against him. “A few months after, I thought about how different it could've been, but then real life would stop me in my tracks.” He lets his hands roam over and then up along Sam's spine, one hand locking around a wrist to secure his embrace. “So I attempted that life, ended fucking it up.”

Sam snickers lightly, moving so his arms circle high around Dean's shoulders and back, almost wrapping around his neck. “Funny how it is—getting what we most want, only to learn it's not what we expected it to be.”

“I'm not even going to subject you to my inquisition.” As he lowers his arms to fit around Sam's waist, Dean inches back a few to look at Sam. “I'll just... think about my own time in hell, then times it by a gazillion.”

“Thanks... my mind appreciates that.” Sam reads a little into Dean's smirk toward him, then loosens his arms so they just dangle around and hang off the broad shoulders. Then he leans forward to rest his brow against Dean's forehead, closing his eyes in silent bliss.

“I do have one question, though.” Dean doesn't shut his eyes, like he typically would do in this position. He looks directly into Sam's face, ready to catch his eyes once the lids open.

Sam sighs, keeps his gaze averted so Dean can't see into the depths of sadness he carries. “All right...” He cranes his neck backward, sliding one of his arms along so his hand can cup the side of Dean's neck, fingers caressing the nape and hairline.

“What got you through?”

“You _really_ wanna know?” Sam doesn't think he'll get an honest answer. Not after what he reveals.

“Why?” Dean keeps dipping his head to catch Sam's eyes, then stays still as he sends his hands to soothe along the back of the rib cage. “Should I be afraid to ask?”

“Well, now that I think on it...” Sam looks up at the ceiling, mulling over their topic of conversation a few minutes ago. “... you might be.”

“Was it Mom or Jessica... Dad— _what_?”

“You.”

“ _Me_?” Dean can't explain why he's stunned by the response. He's been in Sam's life more than Sam has been in his, so it's a given. But to hear it uttered is a whole different story.

“Why's that so strange?”

“I don't know.” Dean shrugs both shoulders, then tilts his head. “You had imagine spending eternity there, or what felt like one, and you chose me?”

Sam nods his head, then smiles shyly. “Yeah, I did.” He keeps his chin to chest, slightly mumbling his words. “I'd choose you again.”

“God... _hmm_ , weird...” Dean feels a little giddy over learning Sam had cared enough he thought about him even at his worst. Only because it had been exactly what he had done.

Sam shakes his body out of its melancholy, then cups both sides of Dean's neck, lifting up one corner of his mouth in a forced smile. “What got you through?— _if you don't mind me asking_.”

“ _... you..._ ”

“ _... oh, dean..._ ” Sam chuckles lightly as he shakes his head at how ridiculous they are, being so angry at one another for time apart and they end up doing the exact same thing.

“See...” Dean pats one side of Sam's body. “—that's why I thought it was weird.”

Sam gives Dean a sad, weary look before he turns away, walking out of their embrace. “Dean...” He feels the hands try to hold him tighter as he twists away. “... _please, let me go_...”

“No, just... _one more thing_...” Dean holds up one finger, then keeps one hand on Sam, fist bunched in the cotton to pull it away from the waistline of the pajama bottoms. He exposes bare skin and the elastic band of underwear.

“... _what_?...” Sam is able to work Dean's grip off his clothes so he doesn't stretch them, then he stands a little closer but not enough to be within Dean's reach.

“I thought of you, as a comfort.” Regretfully, Dean lets Sam shake off his grip. He stands there, moving his arms to dangle behind him as he crosses an arm along his mid-back, locking fingers on the other arm. Dean knows he wants to touch Sam way-too badly. “My memories of you—all our good memories, some of our sad ones, then our new ones together—saving lives, hunting things. Then... I started to need you...” He turns his head to look off to the side, softly laughing at himself. “—like I had to think of you to make it less painful.” Dean keeps circling one hand around his head, rubbing and scratching at his scalp. “I conjured up this ideal of you, in my head, like you would save me... rescue me. You'd take me away from all this agony and you'd...” He doesn't know how to explain this portion as it tends to constantly leave him visibly shaken. “—you'd give me pieces of you to replace the pain.” Dean presses a fist to his gut, around his lower abdominal wall. “I replaced it with pleasure.... _carnal_ pleasures. I took what you could give me of yourself to make me whole again.”

“ _jesus, dean..._ ” Sam turns away, hands on hips and he bows his head to swipe a palm over his face.

“That's why I _can't_ —it all came rushing back to me... those fantastical nights in your arms.” Dean feels those memories come pelting him at this very moment, moistening his eyes like he'll cry or sob to beg Sam not to think him sinful or dirty—a pervert who wants to fuck his little brother. “I felt shame and guilt, like you'd hate me, think me disgusting or a freak for tainting our relationship—our feelings. I wanted you to still love me. I needed you _not_ to hate me, able to look me in the eye...” Dean slowly approaches Sam, wishing he'd turn around and look at him. He reaches out a hand to touch Sam's back, then goes to remove it until Sam spins around to grab it to hold to his body. “Wha—?” Dean's looking down at Sam's hand sandwiching his single hand, the way flesh rubs flesh and heat comforts a shaking, sweaty palm.

“I couldn't _not_ think of you because you've been my only salvation— _my only peace_.” Sam chokes on a near-sob as he draws the bond of their hands up his body, toward his upper chest. “As a brother, a father, a mother, a friend... and an ass-kicker...” He manages to get Dean to snicker-snort at that one, then connects eyes on the next word he uses. “—a lover. I let you in and I never forgot.”

Dean narrows his eyes on Sam, nodding his head as he begins to understand what's been taking place between them. “It's why you came out when I touched you.” He swallows hard on his next words. “You recognized my touch...”

Sam doesn't budge with his stare. “You were the only good to come out of that time.” He lifts up one hand to cup low on Dean's face, thumb pad playing below the bottom lip. “To know that it might be real, that you'd feel that powerfully toward me... I took a chance.”

Dean turns his head in shame, choking back his tears, while he opens his hand on Sam's chest to lay his palm over the area where the tattoo is inked. “—and I failed you.”

“You... can _never_ fail me. _Ever_.” Sam hand moves up now to caress and cup Dean's cheek. “I love you too much to see the flaws in you.” He gives up when he realizes Dean won't look at him until he's ready or he's comfortable with his feelings and where the moment is going. “I mean, shit, _look at me_... I'm not exactly a Prince Charming type ladies flock to. I can't trust anyone to not have a sinister plan to fool me. The only one I can trust is you.”

“I can't trust anyone to protect you, so I'll do it myself.” Dean flashes his eyes at Sam for only a second or two, lifting his lashes briefly as he smiles. “But I do trust you.”

Sam lets his hand slide underneath Dean's chin, slowly lifting the head. “Do you trust me enough to know I won't go 'dark side' on you?”

“Well, your 'dark side' is pretty tame...” Dean smirks as his eyes start to connect with Sam's gaze. “... and he's kind of sexy...”

“So is that a 'no'?”

Dean gently shoves at Sam's chest. “I could beat the 'dark side' out of you.”

“mmm... I'd like to see you try.” Sam shoves Dean back just as gently.

~~&&~~

“Whoa!... wa's this?”

“I dunno.” Gwen looks down at Sam, caressing his face. “He's perspiring.” She glances over her shoulder at Dean. “Check him, Bobby.”

Bobby moves to lay his hand on Dean's upper cheek and forehead. “Same here. Could it be a fever?”

“Maybe. I'm not—” Gwen takes in a quick inhale of breath as Sam's oxygen sats drop. “ _oh, my!_... wait... they're back up again.”

“ _jesus_...” When he's nervous or scared, Bobby doesn't think to earlier situations that might explain what's happening, until someone else points it out to him. “... what could they be doing?”

“Who knows. Probably, uh... _something physical_.” Gwen sticks her tongue into her cheek, trying to curb her need to smile wide.

“You don't think—”

Gwen starts to chuckle and doubles over in laughter.

Bobby has to wander off, red-faced with embarrassment.

~~&&~~

 _“_ _Give in!”_

 _“_ _No! You give in!”_

 _“_ _No!”_

 _“_ _I got you pinned!”_

 _“_ _Cheater!”_

 _“_ _What?! I got you, fair-n-square!”_

 _“_ _uh-uh... not if I can do_ ** _this_** _!”_ Dean rolls them both across the mattress, able to pin Sam to the bed, while sitting on his chest with knees on his arms. _“Give in yet!?!”_

“ _... no... never..._ ” San is red in the face, loosing breath fast. “ _—dean... can you—? please..._ ”

“ _oh, jesus..._ yeah, sorry... I forget that we're older and heavier.” Dean flips over to land on his back next to Sam. His head is laying on Sam's extended arm. They're both laying the wrong way across the tangle of linens. “ _gah..._ we haven't wrestled like that in years...”

Sam looks over and down at Dean. “Was it good for you?”

“Why...” Dean wrinkles his brow to look up and over at Sam, a lift to one eyebrow. “—it _wasn't_ good for you?”

“I asked you first.”

“I won.”

“ _... christ..._ you're such a sore loser...”

“yeah... maybe...” Dean flips toward Sam's side, laying his head on the hollow of the arm pit. He pats the large chest wall, then lifts the hem of the t-shirt to look at the perfectly sculpted muscular torso. “You look... _bigger_...”

“... thanks...” Sam lifts the arm Dean is laying on and combs back the blond spikes. “Your hair got a little lighter.”

“The sun. I go to swimming pools. During vacation, I went to the beach. Could also be the shampoo Lisa bought me.”

Sam keeps the hand on top of Dean's head, then leans his cheek on his hand. “This is nice.”

Dean sends his arm out, tucking under the t-shirt to touch bare skin. “I miss'd you.”

Sam kisses the crown of Dean's blond locks. “It's so blissfully quiet here.”

Dean lifts his head to look at Sam, who's staring at the ceiling. “Come home with me.”

Sam blinks, then lowers his eyes to Dean's gaze. “—but you don't...”

Dean throws a leg over Sam's body, gently straddling the waist. “I can't leave you here or take a chance I'd fuck this up worse than those demons did. I _can't_ go back without you. I _won't_ go back without you.”

Sam rests his hands on Dean's thighs. “What are you saying?”

“I don't know—-help me here a little...” Dean clamps hands over Sam's on his thighs. “I don't know how to start or what to even do, because... if we're both ready and we agree to do _this_ —who's top and who's the bottom?”

“If we were doing _this_ —normally, I'd say it wouldn't matter.” Sam shuffles up along the bed to rest higher on the pillows, not quite hitting the headboard. “But this time, I think it matters a lot.”

“I'm to carry your soul with me— _inside of me_...” Even at the mention of “inside of me”, Dean sets an arm over his abdomen and rubs over the firmness. “... so I let you fuck me?”

“Or it could be that you enter me, then I just...” Sam rolls one hand toward Dean, trying to demonstrate. “... my whole body surrounds you—I fall into you.”

Dean smiles, averting his head with a shake. “That's a beautiful, harmonious thought, but I don't think that's how it'll work.”

Sam reaches out to tenderly caress Dean's face. “Not even if it's what ** _I_** want?”

“Would that be how it happens?” Dean furrows his brow in confusion, unsure how exactly to go about starting this with Sam. Women were easier to seduce and make love to, like complete strangers were simpler to charm and win over. “The one needing to come back gets to choose?”

“I'm not sure.” Sam's not making one more move unless it's started by Dean or he gets a signal from Dean to go ahead. “What feels right to you?”

“None of it does—not the sex part, but the possible obliteration or dying part.”

Sam nods his head in agreement, then quirks up one side of his mouth. “We thwarted an Apocalypse, Dean. We've defied logic before... why not now?”

“The one exception to the rule.” Dean stares off to the side, a hint of a smirk playing over his lips. He doesn't stop touching Sam's hands on his thighs.

“There are no rules, Dean...” Sam laughs lightly, his hands squeezing Dean's in reassurance.

“No... there aren't, are there?” Dean finally turns to look at Sam, but from a side-view then gives a half-smile with a soft laugh in kind. “Because we don't actually exist.” At least here they don't exist, and they can be whomever and whatever they want to be to one another.

“We can't, because we'd be dead if we did.”

“And if we're dead... then this must be the most perfect Heaven...”

~~&&~~

Dean doesn't recall falling asleep, but he must've because he opens his eyes next to find himself laying on his left side, facing a body next to him in the big bed. He knows the body belongs to Sam and he's done waiting; he's ready to bring Sam home. He moves over to inch closer to Sam, who is laying on his stomach, dead to the world asleep. _Poor guy..._ Sam has to be so tired and exhausted. Dean reaches out with one hand to run the palm up Sam's back. After a few runs over the t-shirt, Dean starts to massage under the material. He horns in and takes Sam's pillow space, making it impossible for Sam to roll back over and hog the spot he no longer wants.

Sam jostles away and flips his head to connect gazes with Dean. “ _... hi..._ ” His voice is nothing but a hushed whisper between them.

“ _... hey..._ ” Dean grumbles back in a soft, brash tone.

“—sorry...” Sam hides his face a little in embarrassment. “I'm the worst first date ever.”

“No, man... I like this better. We didn't rush it.” Dean brushes back the long dark bangs. He never knew Sam's hair was much softer these days. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” Sam lifts his head back from hiding. He closes his eyes in bliss, feeling the fingers sift through his hair and massage his scalp. “I've always liked this time—with you.”

Dean leans his head toward Sam's face, his nose bumping the high brow near the hairline. “I remember you used to crawl in bed with me, huddle and fall asleep in my arms.”

“You still got the magic touch.”

Dean gently tugs at the t-shirt Sam wears. Sam reaches to grab the back collar and pulls the material over his head and off his body. He lays down, untucking his left arm to pull at Dean's own shirt—who does the same maneuver to take off his own t-shirt. Sam sets his hands flat to Dean's chest as Dean leans over to start kissing bare skin. He begins at the left shoulder, working his way to the nape and down the spine—his wayward right hand travels a similar path. Sam starts to moan and wiggle his hips, pressing into the mattress. Dean gets to the lumbar spine and lowers the briefs, slowly kissing, suckling skin and nipping at chunks of flesh. He feels Sam push back against his face. Dean sends two fingers down and along the crack, tucking under to slide back upward. He finds the puckered hole, bending to lick at an ear and bite a lobe, moving his lips over a cheek to kiss the corner of Sam's mouth.

Sam lifts up and rolls onto his right side to face Dean, he raises a leg to hook it high on Dean's hip. “God... should we be glowing or something...” He's a little scared to touch Dean, but only because he's not sure what will happen when they actually start moving beyond a foreplay phase. “... feeling _something_ different, not just sexual arousal?”

“I don't know. I like it just how it is...” Dean lets his fingers massage over the anus. He's leaning his forehead on Sam's head, his breath mingling with Sam's. “It's hot to touch... I bet it's like fire inside...”

Sam blinks slow and makes a noise under his throat as he feels the fingers press and release. “—go ahead... stick 'em in...” He reaches out to lay his hand, palm flat, to Dean's upper chest, curling his fingers over the shoulders and pushing. “—not just one, but both...”

“But you're not...” Dean doesn't want to assume that he has free reign over Sam's body, holding back in case he needs to make Sam feel more comfortable.

“Who says I _haven't_?” Sam gives out a tiny grin, a twinkle of mischief to his eye. “I did go to college, you know.” Just because he was far from family and living beyond the hunter's life didn't mean he behaved and stopped experimenting to live life to its fullest

“Sheesh, I'm frickin' jealous already.” Dean dips his head in, an inch away from open lips. “I wanted to be your first.”

“You are, don't worry.” Sam shakes his head slightly, reassuring Dean that he either couldn't go through with the moment or he didn't go very far. “Just a bit of curiosity—mostly handjobs... nothing too extreme...”

“Well, jus' to let you know, whatever you do to me, will be _my_ first time.” Dean moves up a little, sitting higher so he can have a better angle as he slips his fingers inside.

“Thanks...” Sam leans his head back, feeling the thickness of the fingers. “ _—oh, god... yeah, yeah..._ ” He starts to thrust against Dean, bringing his head around to lay their foreheads together. “Keep doing that.... tha's such a sweet spot you've found...”

“ _mmm...”_ Dean softly chuckles, his eyes can't help staring at Sam's lips, especially the bottom one as he bites it with each small thrust. _“—_ and I didn't really have to practice.”

“I'm glad you didn't...” Sam arcs back again, this time feeling Dean lick and slide his lips along the prominent outline of his esophagus as it pops against the pale skin. “... _oh-oh-oh... dean, dean... fuck! yeah..._ ”

“ _ssshhh, ssshhh...”_ Dean pulls his fingers back out, simply soothing the whole area as he comforts against Sam's skin, humming his words. “—we're not on anyone's timetable... we got all the time in the world.”

“But we only have one first time and it has to be—right...” Sam can't help but smile or release a soft giggle. “... my very soul's at stake, remember?”

“... I've got you...” Dean kisses up the side of Sam's face, leaning his head against the dark strands. “... I'm here an' I'll take care of you...”

“So glad...” Sam wants to give in and let his body go within Dean's arms, but he's still a little unsure and hesitant. “... _so-so glad... ungh, dean... please..._ ”

Dean can feel the slight shaking of Sam's body. “We both still have on our underwear.” He slides his hand back around from the backside, slipping over the front. “I'm not half-assing this moment.”

As Sam rolls a bit onto his back, pulling Dean over him. “I appreciate the sweet sentimentality of the gesture, but... pretty soon I'm gonna lose it, if you don't just _fuck_ me.”

“ _mmm...”_ Dean actually liked hearing the word come out of Sam's mouth in the context that was appropriate at the time. _“—_ say that again.”

“ _What_? The whole thing?'

Dean chuckles deeply. “—I think you'll figure it out soon.” He nudges Sam's head, then moves to kiss down the neck and along the shoulder. “ _Christ!_ ” Dean makes the sound as if he's just found out something terrible.

Sam's eyes flitter around to see what could have happened. “What?!”

Dean shakes his head to calm Sam down, then moves his hand up to pat the chest wall. “Think it matters if we have condoms or not? 'cuz I didn't bring any.”

Sam understands now, then smiles. “It's _my_ mind, I think if we need to I can remedy that. But... maybe it's best for the whole soul-thing to work to not have _anything_ between us.”

“yeah... makes sense...” Dean stares down at Sam, his hands scraping up and around the sweet, familiar face. He's never seen it in this manner; so close and in such an arousing fashion. “God... you're beautiful...”

“ _—dean..._ ” Sam turns his face into Dean's body, acting shy.

“Nah, seriously... dude, I should know these things— _ow!_ ” Dean lightly laughs as Sam flicks him on the neck. “God, I hate that. Why do you grow your claws so long, Devil Boy?”

“They're normal length, Dean. You're just a big sensitive man-child.”

Dean pulls a nipple.

“ _Ow-ch! Really?_ What are we— _seven_?!”

“You started it!”

“ _yeah_?... then I'll finish it.” Sam can't stand watching Dean lay there and not kiss him on the mouth. He rolls Dean over, able to loom above as he dips in to kiss Dean hard and quick. Sam pulls away to catch a breath, then dives in again with a tenderness he uses to apologize with for being so rough.

“ _mmm... whoa..._ ” Dean's a little bowled over by the gentle toughness being used on him.

“yeah, so, uh... _there_...”

Dean latches onto a shoulder to tug Sam closer. “Come here and do it again, but with less tongue.”

“I didn't—Dean! c'mon—stop...” Sam doesn't expect to be flipped onto his back. His legs went in disarray to balance himself on the bed.

Dean finds he fits between Sam's thighs quite well. “ _mmm..._ excellent...” He pushes in with his groin, mashing against Sam's pelvis “—you're already so hard for me...”

“It's your fault...” Sam smirks up at Dean, averting his gaze coyly. “... looking as handsome as most white knights do.”

“You can stop calling me _that_ at anytime.” Dean rolls his eyes again at being called a “knight”, yet again.

Sam furrows his brow in confusion, because he's never called Dean this name in their lives. “What do you—? I've never called you that before, but I'll stop if you hate it so much.”

“ _no-no-no..._ it's just you _have_ called me that before.” To Dean it was just the other night, but who knew what memories were still present in Sam's mind. “You don't recall it.”

“oh, yeah...” Sam nods his head in understanding as he's pretty certain it will take him a little while to sort out whatever's left of his mind. “... sorry 'bout that.”

“Don't... just don't do _that_. Don't apologize for something out of your control.”

Sam glances away, then up at the ceiling. “I never should've jumped.”

“It would've meant the end of the world.” Dean doesn't think he has to mention what would've happened had Sam not taken the fall.

Sam brings his gaze back around to look directly at Dean. “But I would've been with you—The End of Days with you... I'd've liked that...”

“We both had to do what we had to do to know that what we have is irreplaceable and precious...”

“Feel _this_...” Sam grabs for one of Dean's hands and places it over left breast. “... my heart's racing a mile a minute...”

“So's mine...” Dean moves so that their chests almost align and merge together.

Hazel eyes zero in on green, trying to read into a deeper feeling or emotion. “We're not gonna make it out of here, are we? We'll both die— _together_.”

“Don't be such a pessimist.” For the first time, in a very long while, Dean's the one feeling positive on their outlook.

“I'm a realist—like you.”

“I'm starting to feel a bit of optimism.” Dean grips Sam's hand tight to turn it so he can press a kiss into the palm. “I don't want _this_ to be our last time.”

“Me either.” Sam sends his palm up to cup the side of Dean's face. “Don't—don't go so fast... unless I ask you to.”

“All right. I won't...” Dean smiles down at Sam, trying to be encouraging. He's waiting for Sam to return the smile, but will suffice with a slight grin to one corner of his mouth. A mouth Dean very much wants to kiss again. Planting his forearms beside Sam's head on the pillow case, Dean lightly touches the face as he dips his head in and out, kissing spots and rubbing their faces together. He reaches the mouth eventually and Sam eagerly opens his lips, tilting his head. Dean tries to be gentle at first, but once he has a taste he can't get enough. One hand shapes Sam's face and head, the other under-grips his chin to steady him. From the kisses alone, Dean can tell Sam's the kind of lover who can freely give up control, yet still be powerful underneath. While he's kissing, seducing Sam, Sam is moving and caressing Dean—very subtly, but enough to get Dean fully aroused.

They quickly rid Sam of his briefs and Dean pulls his own down and off, then they go right back to fitting their bodies together, Dean cups the side of Sam's neck, then trails lips down the jaw and over the throat and upper chest. He fingers the tattoo, then he's tugging on nipples that have gone hard and pert—this is when Sam starts to buck against Dean's body.

“This shouldn't feel _this_ good.”

“... or feel _this_ right...”

Both men are stunned by their building passion for one another, not sure they could get any harder or hornier. Dean rises onto his knees, Sam lifts slowly onto one elbow at a time. Dean takes Sam's cock in hand to tenderly jerk while he moistens fingers and dances around the entrance to insert his fingertips in. He works on that “sweet spot” of Sam's, making him throw back his head and grab onto the sheets. Dean goes a little further, stroking faster and curling to uncurling his fingers more as he passes through a barrier in the warm canal.

Sam falls back onto the bed to touch his own body, feeling his feverish skin and wipes away the sheen of perspiration. Dean looms over, drawing his tongue up the chest, sucks a nipple and takes possession of Sam's mouth. Sam's hands come up to shape Dean's head and he latches onto the tri-tone blond spikes—he's grabbing handfuls as his pleasure increases. When Dean draws back to work on his own stiff length, he watches Sam take over the jerking of his own cock, reaching under to tug and mash the oval testicles and move down the patch of smooth skin to the puckered opening.

Sam teases and plays with himself, but mostly wants to watch Dean's reaction, like he's jealous and he wants to be the one giving Sam pleasure. Once Dean's satisfied that he's sleek and hard enough, he starts swatting Sam's hands away to take his position; there's a bit of roughhousing where Sam swats back because sometimes Dean doesn't know how strong, or rude, he can be. It becomes a slight fighting match of arms and hands until Dean pins Sam's forearms to the bed, beside his head on the pillow. Dean grunts because he wants Sam to stop fighting back and Sam appeases by leaning up to snag lips, then the corner of the mouth, the chin and along the scuffed jaw; he starts biting along the throat and licking over the Adam's apple as Dean swallows hard.

Dean furrows his brow. “I'm feeling...”

Sam looks concerned because Dean's gone still and pale. “What's wrong? What—?”

Dean touches his own chest, then touches Sam's in the center of the breast plate. “ _... jesus..._ it's like a second heartbeat, but it's out of sync...”

“ _huh_?” Sam allows Dean to take his hand, palm to his chest and then Sam's skin. “That's... _unreal_...” He lets out a stunted laugh, snorting. “I don't _feel_ any different.”

Dean keeps hold of Sam's hand, then squeezes. “Maybe you will once we've—connected...”

“Is it—?” Sam glances down between their bodies, admiring the contrast of dark to light, then the obvious similarities. He lays his head back down and catches the wide green eyes. “—do it. I'm ready.” Sam draws Dean's hand up to rest near his head, the hand falls to his shoulder and grips tight.

Dean reaches down between their bodies, guiding his tip in; he barely pushes inside and already he knows he won't last for long. The muscles grip tight around him as he eases in, watching his body disappear into Sam. He pets the inner thighs, spreading them open then hooks them over his hips. Dean glances down at Sam to see no pain at all registering on his face; there's almost a sense of peace. Bracing his hands on either side of Sam's body, Dean pulls out slow to push in, setting a rhythmic pace he needs to maintain or he'll come too soon.

Sam's turned his face away and has drawn in his arms to lay across his chest. Dean leans in and kisses a cheek, nips at an ear and rests his brow on Sam's face. Sam starts to moan and move, he's beginning to counter-thrust and his hands reach out and up to press against Dean's chest. Sam slides his hands along Dean's torso, then loops over to sculpt the curved back. He follows the line of the spine and lands on the upper curves of Dean's ass. Sam palms each cheek as he tightens his legs around Dean and attempts to pull him closer. Dean loses balance and falls face-forward into Sam's neck and shoulder; their chests are now mashed together and Sam's cock is one straight-line along their stomachs.

As he buries his face away, Dean still pistons in and out, picking up a gradual speed he keeps in tandem with Sam. With one arm around Dean, strong and sturdy, Sam manages to roll them on their sides—for a brief time—then on to Dean's back. Sam remains on Dean's chest until he builds enough strength to rise upright, straddling Dean with knees spread wide, he rides the cock inside him with a frenzy. He feels the sting in his gut for the eventual orgasm he'll release soon, but there's something else brewing inside him; it should scare him, but it doesn't. Dean is lifting his bottom off the bed to pump in and out, trying to reach out for Sam's hands, but he can see Sam is distracted—in his own head, in his own bliss—and Dean feels worried. Reaching back as he rises off the mattress, Dean rests on his hands, watching Sam sink onto his body at a quickening pace. He doesn't know when they'll actually “merge”, or if they ever will... and he's afraid he won't ever see or feel Sam again—whether he's the one who survives or dies is moot.

Dean sits up to wrap arms about Sam, who looks ferociously sexy above him, lost in ecstasy—Sam takes the embrace in stride and cradles Dean to his chest. As an ear goes flat to Sam's mid-sternum, Dean begins to hear what might have been leading Sam into looking so god-damn happy. It's Dean's own voice, relaying his thoughts in his head through all the years—every truth he lied about to Sam's face. It could only mean _one thing_... Sam was actually entering his body, getting totally inside him and becoming a part of him.

“... _no-no-no_... not yet...” Dean can't stop his or Sam's body, they are locked as one, so they have to ride it out until the end. Pretty soon he feels the build-up of pleasure, starting from mid-thigh and as it rises and rises it stops right around his belly. As Sam continues to move and clench his anal walls around him, Dean eventually arcs backward to spill his seed with a deep guttural cry of ecstasy.

Sam releases him as if feeling his own body awash with the very essence of Dean and leans back to latch onto Dean's legs, coming with his own spastic jolts and cries of pleasure. He rises upright and hugs Dean tight. “ _... don't let me go..._ ”

“ _... never..._ ”

But as they make this promise, something new churns between them as their bodies stay connected. They move apart to look down between them. There's a glowing sphere dead center of their chests—each one sending out rings of light, like they were communicating in pulses. It doesn't take long for the sounds and the pulses to match up.

Dean falls back first, then Sam on top of him—their bodies drawn like magnets. They were laying even, but Sam rests lower to set his head down on Dean's chest.

A block at a time, sections of their bodies merge forming one body... one entity...

Neither of them call out in pain or agony... they had eyes closed and glimpses of smiles on their faces until they were one soul merged...

~~&&~~

Bobby and Gwen are keeping vigil—one on Sam's bedside, the other between Sam and Dean. They start to feel the room vibrate, then shake. Things rattle around the room and then a glowing orb appears on Dean's chest.

“ _Gwen! Look!_ ”

“ _Oh, Dear Lord!_ ” Gwen tries to go over and wake Dean, but there is no way she can get near him. There's some type of energy field blocking her.

Sam's machines start turning on and off. Anything with an electrical current, still plugged in, starts to flicker and turn on, even if it was off.

The orb pulls and pulls at Dean's chest, making him arc off the cushions while he still lays unconscious.

“ _Call Cas! Now!_ ”

Castiel is there the second his name is mentioned. “ _Don't touch_ ** _either_** _of them!_ ” He yells above the noise level. He doesn't move too close to Dean as if he already knows there's a boundary line he can't cross. He extends his hand, closing his eyes to extract the orb from inside Dean's body. Castiel has to back up because the barrier moves every time the orb does.

It's not until too late that Bobby and Gwen realize that Castiel hasn't arrived alone. Five men and women are lined-up to also extend their hands and guide the orb into a metal box. No one can get close to the orb so the box rests on the floor The orb begins to struggle as it floats in mid-air, under so much pressure as if it knows it's being taken... that makes Castiel and his goon squad work all that much harder. The orb finally is settled on the soft padding and two angels now work to close the case shut.

The lid snaps shut and locks... nosies stop, machines stop freaking out...

“ _What did you do?!_ ” Gwen's chest is heaving though she hasn't over-exerted herself, just scared and confused beyond belief.

“ _What the hell was that, Castiel?!”_ Bobby yells on a low growl at Castiel, not sure why he won't look at him.

Castiel nods his head to the five angels he brought with him and they pick up the case and are gone.

Bobby quietly watches the room empty, his jaw clenching as he stares at Castiel. “You better explain yourself soon, boy, or I'll come over there an'...”

“Relax, Bobby.” Castiel holds out his hand, calming Bobby down as he speaks in a soft timber. “That was _not_ their souls. That was the energy they created. It could've killed them. We had to extract it first.”

“ _First?!_ ” Gwen would've appreciated a little heads-up to what Castiel had planned on doing. They had assumed Castiel would play a small role in this, instead he turned out to be quite the game changer. “What _else_ is there to do?!”

“Nothing. Pardon me.” Castiel walks over to Sam, rolling back his coat and shirt sleeve, then sticks his hand inside Sam's chest. There's a burst of light and Castiel's arm disappears to move around within the chest wall.

“ _Jesus Christ!_ ” Bobby mutters loudly as Gwen covers her eyes with both hands.

“Sam's fine.” Castiel pulls his hand out just as quick as he placed it in. “He should be back to normal soon enough—once he awakens.”

“What about, Dean?”

Castiel turns to walk over to do the same thing to Dean, but Dean sputters awake on his own, sitting upright with the foot-rest still up.

“ _Holy Jesus! Mother Mary!_ ” Dean's rubbing at his chest as if it's sore. “It's like the world's worst indigestion.”

“Dean seems fine,” Castiel summarizes as he keeps on walking like he's exiting out the bedroom door.

“ _Hold it right there!_ ” Bobby calls out, making Castiel stop and turn around. “Mind explainin' what that whole Men in Black show was for?”

“Sam and Dean will be fine, Bobby.” Castiel purses his lips tight, trying to hold back the need to explain more than he should. “I'm afraid that is all you need to know.”

Bobby walks closer to Castiel, hands on hips, not sure why he's so angry and frustrated. “You took that energy from them to— _what_? Harness a part of Heaven for you an' your kin?”

Gwen is getting a bit pissed too. “Or maybe you need an edge over your enemies in this battle you're fighting.”

Bobby shakes his head at how shady Castiel has been acting. “It would've been nice to get a heads-up, Cas.”

“The orb and its energy do not belong down here.” Castiel wishes he could explain more, but it's too complex for any human to comprehend. “It's not Sam or Dean. It belongs to no human. It belongs— _elsewhere_.”

Dean's really confused and a little disoriented. “Would someone mind explaining to me what I missed?”

Bobby turns to face Dean. “Oh, jus' Castiel bein' his usual cryptic holier-than-thou self.”

“It's nothing, Dean.” Castiel locks eyes with Dean, then gives him a solid nod of his head. “Not your concern.”

Dean narrows his gaze on Castiel. “ _What_ did you take, Cas?”

“It was...” Castiel can answer that question quite easily but he will only go so far before he ends the full disclosure.

“—and don't say _nothin'_ 'cuz you don't seem to be the most popular guy in the room.”

“Fine” Castiel sighs heavily in annoyance as he simply wants to leave like he's been able to before. But he can't, not right now. “It was an orb. The orb holds an energy that could've killed you or Sam... and possibly could have exterminated everything within a fifty mile radius.”

Bobby steps forward. “It came out of you, Dean. Most likely, it's that energy _split aparts_ create once they merge.”

Dean's eyes go wide, rushing to Sam's side. “ _Sammy!_ ”

Gwen is quick to comfort Dean. “Cas already checked, Dean. He's fine. His soul is intact.” She starts looking at the machines Sam's been hooked to for a month. “His oxygen levels are great. Go ahead and take off his tubing, just lay it on his pillow above his head.”

Castiel places his hand on the doorknob.

“Since when do you leave through a door?” Bobby's the only one who caught Castiel trying to sneak out.

“Since I used all my own energy to catch the celestial orb.” Castiel gestures to the outside, from the window. “They're waiting for me out front.”

Dean doesn't even turn around to face Castiel as he stands next to Sam's bedside. “Don't think you can slip out of here without me telling you that while I thank you for your help with Sam... this in no way clears the air between us. When I'm satisfied that Sam's better, you and I WILL talk.”

“Understood. You know how to reach me.” Castiel leaves with the soft shut of the door.

Everyone surrounds Sam's bed—Dean and Gwen on one side, Bobby on the other.

 **~~ &&~~&&~~&&~~...tbc...~~&&~~&&~~&&~~**


	8. Chapter 8

**A Single Thread**

**Chapter Eight**

“How can we tell he's different?” Dean's narrowing his gaze on Sam's features, only going so far down his torso because he doesn't want to miss the moment those hazel eyes open for him. “He still looks the same.”

Gwen motions toward Sam's face, showing Dean the different areas she can tell are lax or relaxed. “I can see the subtle differences in his face.” Then she lets her hand trail down Sam's upper chest. “And his chest—he's breathing up and down normally as if he's only asleep.” Gwen floats her hand above, following the steady rise-n-fall of the lungs as they inhale and exhale properly.

“What do we do to wake him?” Dean's a bit on edge, not sure what he should do, where to touch or what he should say. He's a mess of emotions and he simply wants to be left alone with Sam.

“Well, I would ideally like to say let him wake on his own, but... this is a different circumstance. So, make a loose fist with your hand.” Gwen demonstrates with her own hand. “Then you take the hand and place it mid-sternum, or in the middle of the upper chest.” She's barely touching the chest plate, but the blankets rise up to skim her hand. “You want to push gently down, then shake him, rattle him. This can stimulate the heart and lungs.”

Even though Dean is closest, he wants Gwen to try first. “Go ahead and show me.” He backs up to move out of her way. “I don't wanna hurt him.” Dean rubs a shaking hand over his forehead, then down his face.

“ _awww_ , there's no way you can do that, but—okay. I'll go ahead and show you what to do.”

When it didn't work for Gwen, Bobby tries from where he stands, using his left hand.

Then eventually Dean takes his turn, sighing heavily. “ _... you're such a stubborn little bitch..._ ” He mumbles out the words, resting his fist on Sam's chest, then Sam takes a deep inhale of air, opening his eyes.

“ _... selfish jerk..._ ” The voice is deep, but crackles because the vocal chords have rarely been used.

Sweeter words could not have been uttered with the same reactions. All eyes look at each other, unable to not smile and tear up, then look back at Sam.

“ _—Bobby..._ ” Sam lifts his hand to touch Bobby's forearms. He's trying to squeeze but he's still weak.

“Boy...” Bobby really chokes up, unable to speak. He puts a fist to his mouth to stem his emotions. “... you gave us quite a scare...” He pats Sam's hand and squeezes back.

Dean cups his hand around the top of Sam's head. “How d'you feel?” He can't quite get emotional just yet, not until he's alone with Sam and they can talk, and Dean can find out how much Sam remembers of their time together.

“ _Tired... like I ran a hundred-thousand miles..._ ” Sam's eyes move down to a pretty brunette who seems to be crying the most. He frowns, not sure what to say to apologize. “ _—'m'sorry... don' even know you—made you cry already..._ ”

“I's okay...” Gwen is fanning at her eyes, trying to wipe away moisture as she points to her own face. “... happy tears...”

Bobby clears his throat, feeling unsettled by Gwen's emotional upheaval. He knows how much Sam means to her, and Sam has no idea who she is. “This here is Gwen, Sam. She's been nursing you back to health since you, uh... left us for a bit.”

“ _Wuz I out long?_ ” Sam's eyes dart between everyone, noticing how they all avert their gazes from him. He bites the inside of his cheek. He coughs, clearing his throat of the lumps gathering as he swallows to moisten his esophagus to talk.

Dean's starting to be unable to curb his emotions, simply because he can detect that Sam's about to crack. “Close to a month-n-a-half.” He seems to be the only one who can talk to Sam with a steady voice that won't break.

“ _oh, wow... I don't—I'm not sure I..._ ”

“It's all right, Sammy.” Dean pets the woven cap on top of Sam's head. “In time, it'll all come back to you. Be patient.”

Sam shuffles around in the bed, trying not to think too hard. But when he does, his face starts to crumble and he's trying to draw up an arm to cover his face in shame.

“ _... hey-hey-hey..._ ” Dean lowers the side-railing to be closer to Sam's side. He's trying to move that huge arm away. “... you—Sam—have _nothing_ to be ashamed of...” It's slowly breaking him to see those tears well in those familiar eyes. “—or to feel guilty about...”

“ _... I still feel bad...”_ Sam attempts to talk, but chokes every now and again, still determined to get the words out. _“—an' sorry—for everything..._ ”

Gwen can't bear to watch Sam cry; it makes her tear up more. She reaches out to lay a hand on Sam's leg and simply pets the shape. Something she would've done to soothe Sam had he been unconscious.

Sam starts to furrow his brow again. He shakes his head, his left hand coming over to swipe under his eyes. “ _... help me sit up, Dean..._ ”

Dean presses a button to raise the head of the bed. He's a little concerned with what Sam's intending to do.

“ _I know you, don't I?_ ” Sam looks down at Gwen with a wrinkle to his forehead in deep thought.

“uh, yes.” Gwen manages to warble out the quick reply, patting at her collar bone to clear her throat. “I'm not just your nurse. I'm a Campbell... a third cousin.”

“ _S-S-Samuel Campbell?_ ” Sam stumbles on the name because he has recent faint memories of being with his grandfather who he knows was... _dead_. It doesn't seem possible.

“uhm, yeah...” Gwen soothes her flushed cheeks, wiping at the wetness. “—when you came back without a soul, you wanted to become a full-time hunter and run with family—like Dean had always told you to do.”

“ _I wasn't nice, was I?_ ” Sam drops his gaze, his fingers absently picking at the linens over his legs.

Gwen chuckles, shaking her head. “No, not really, but... you were a better hunter for it.”

“ _Third cousin?_ ” Sam's figuring out what that means, and how connected he is to this woman who feels so familiar to him, still knowing she's a complete stranger. “ _So... you_ ** _knew_** _my mom?_ ”

“Yes...” Now Gwen is back to a new build-up of tears. Thoughts of Mary simply rip her apart inside. “—yes, I knew Mary _very well_.” She strangles out that last part.

“You're about her age...” Sam feels his own eyes billowing with moisture, only because it's becoming obvious to him why he feels like he knows her and why he wants to cry just seeing her here. “... well, the age she'd be at, if she were still alive?”

Dean moves his hand to rest on the pillowcase, his fingers playing at the slope of the neck and shoulder. “What're you getting at, Sammy?”

Bobby feels better when he can reprimand Dean for nagging on his little brother. “Dean, let 'im be.”

“Yes.” Gwen clears her throat, feeling a little scrutinized. But she knew this was going to have to happen once Sam became conscious again. “I'm, maybe, two or three years younger.”

“I'm not being nosy or anything... it's just...” Sam found his voice choking on what he was about to say, only because he felt it intensely. “—I think while I was under, I thought you _were_ my mom...”

No one had expected Sam to say something like _that_ , which is why it took everyone by surprise. Gwen looks completely done in, which is how she'd thought she'd react once Sam became conscious.

“ _—jesus, kid..._ ” Bobby has to turn away, walk a few inches down the bed frame to look out the window.

Gwen covers her face with one hand as she starts to break down, her shoulders shaking.

“Great... now you made her _really_ cry.” Dean grumbles as he puts out a hand to latch onto Gwen's arm nearby.

“Shut up, Dean. Move— _please_.” Sam playfully shoves Dean out of the way so he can take Gwen's hand himself. He tugs her toward him, then shifts off the mattress a bit to wrap her in one of his typical bear hugs. Gwen falls into his embrace, while Sam soothes up and down her back. He twists his face into her hair because the scent is way-too familiar to him and it comforted him when he was locked inside his mind. He'll tell her later, when they're alone and she's ready to hear these things. For now, he'll suffice with holding her. “... ' _thank you_ ' seems like such a hollow sentiment.”

“I'll take it.” Gwen finally now understands why Sam is so deeply loved by _everyone_... even hunters who simply knew of John Winchester and his young boys. She knew the most about Sam from Bobby. But now she _knows_... on her own, Sam is exactly how Mary would've been in her later years. Without knowing it, Sam has taken on the very essence of Mary Winchester. “... mainly 'cuz you woke up to say it to me.” She pulls away reluctantly, reaching out to hesitate in touching Sam's cheek. “I've done my job.”

“I'm grateful you stayed.” Sam watches Gwen pull away, but he's got a hold of her hand in both of his, sandwiched between his palms. “It couldn't have been easy.”

This time Gwen doesn't care how many tears are falling, but she wipes at them with her shoulders as they twist and curl about her cheeks and jawline. “You've made me consider nursing again.”

“No more hunting?” Sam playfully pouts, but he can see the “twinkle” in her eye that it'll be a tough choice to decide on either one or the other.

“Well, I don't know.” Gwen shrugs one shoulder then rolls into another shrug for the other shoulder. “Probably not _completely_ quit, but take a lighter case-load.”

“All right...” Bobby pounds on the plastic railing. “... party's over, ya'll.” He coughs into his hand then moves to the end of Sam's huge bed. For the first time, in a long time, there's a bed that exists that dwarfs Sam's enormous size. It's easier to tell now since he's awake and alert. “You feel hungry, son?”

Sam gives Gwen's hand one last squeeze and sends her off with a small smile. “I could go for one of your slow-cooked pot roasts, Bobby... or maybe a soup... or, nah... chicken-n-dumplings...”

Pot roast and chicken-n-dumplings are too heavy for Sam's stomach to take after being fed nothing but liquids and pureed foods. “Uhm... soup it is...” Bobby motions his head toward the door. “C'mon, Gwen... let's leave these two boys alone.” He'll grab her elbow politely once she makes it down to him and he'll walk out with her. “Let 'em catch up.”

“Bye, Gwen... Bobby...” Sam calls out.

Dean simply gives out tiny waves in the air, feeling a bit on edge as he's now being left completely alone with Sam—finally. Suddenly, there are butterflies in his stomach.

“Bye, Sam...” Gwen shyly grins toward Sam, then flits her eyes toward Dean. “... Dean...”

The brothers let the eerie silence ruminate in the air, waiting for the door to close and the door latch to settle before they can even look directly at one another.

Dean situates himself back near the bed frame to lean on the mattress. “Damn, I thought they'd never leave.”

Sam looks around Dean to where he has just witnessed Bobby escort Gwen out. “They make a cute couple.” He smiles broadly, folding his hands over his lap.

“eh, she'll have to make the first move.” Dean smooths a hand along his jean-clad thigh. “We both know how skittish Bobby gets about girlfriends and... _falling in love_.” He and Sam have never been outright told _not_ to fall in love with the women they take to their beds, but they know firsthand what having loved ones does to a hunter.

“He deserves _some_ happiness.” Sam tugs at the blankets over him, feeling a slight chill in the air. He tucks his forearms and hands under the pile of sheets. He relaxes back against his pillows and the angle of his bed. “We know how Samuel can be, so we know it's probably been no chance of a love-life for her...”

“Are you incredibly tired?” Dean's giving furtive glances toward Sam.

“No.” Sam shakes his head, then lifts from the neck, keeping his upper body resting. “Why?”

Dean draws up a bended knee, brushing against Sam's right side, then lays the bent portion on the mid-thigh as he turns to face Sam. “Well, 'cuz I'd let you sleep if you were.”

“Dean...” Sam knows what Dean is doing and he doesn't need to be babied right now—though he wouldn't mind a little TLC.

“What...?” Dean raises both eyebrows in question as he widens his green eyes.

“While I may not know _everything_ that took place inside my mind, over the last month or so, there's no possible way I can forget us being together.” Sam weakly gestured to Dean then himself under the sheets, then lets his hands rest on the bends of his legs at the pelvic region.

“So...” Dean lowers his gaze, unable to help staring down Sam's body, because he's trying to forget what it had looked like totally naked and underneath him. “...you still remember _that_?”

“I _can't_ forget it...” Sam untucks one hand to send the arm out to reach for Dean. He doesn't care about touching a hand, but he'll suffice with laying his fingers over the shape of Dean's bent knee. “—and I don't want to forget it.”

“ _Everything_?” Dean stares at the hand on his leg.

“ ** _Every_** _thing_.” Sam moves his hand around to slide down the calf to pull at the rough denim.

“Even what we talked about?” Dean is still a little unsettled about what he has revealed to Sam, still not sure he's seen as a complete pervert or sick-in-the-head for feeling attraction to and for his sibling.

“Every-thing, Dean.” Sam smiles warmly, letting his head fall back on the pillow to lean his head to the side as he looks at Dean.

Dean hates himself for how he thought Sam would react, but he supposed you never knew, truthfully, how someone would respond unless you actually told them. “ _—jesus christ..._ ” This has been a long-ass inner struggle within himself.

“I'm not ashamed.” Sam's smile widens when Dean sends out a hand to clamp over his and squeeze.

“Neither am I.” Dean almost sighs when he says the words, because he never truly was, simply unsure about Sam.

“So why are you so...” Sam yanks on the hand, bringing it, and Dean, closer to his body. “—secretive and intense all of a sudden?”

“I'm not sure.” Dean drops the angle of his leg so he can scoot near to Sam. “Well, maybe I am... it was better than I ever imagined it being... and, uhm... _I want to do it again_.” He shares a grin with Sam's smile. “And, well... I don't know that I'll ever go back to wanting women the _same_ way... and, _I want to do it again_.” Now Dean and Sam are both laughing, swatting at each other with the hands they had joined.

Sam smirks with a twinkle in his eyes. “I've ruined you, haven't I?”

“Yup... utterly corrupted me.” Dean shakes his head, hanging his chin in mock sadness. “But then... I really didn't have much farther to fall.”

Sam brings his arm back to his body, then drags the blankets up his upper torso until he's almost just a head peeking out beyond the hemline. “You feel like you've sinned and dove head first into temptation.”

“Well, we've already both been sent to Hell for stupider reasons.” Dean throws his hands up into the air. “Why _not_ do a few of the crimes for having been sent?”

They share another laugh, then the silence settles between them. It's no longer uncomfortable or weird, but peaceful and calm, like when one of them has said something profound, sending the other into deeper thought to share feelings and emotions. Sam looks down and away, closing his eyes as he sighs and just relaxes back into being himself... being human and real, in too long of a time. Dean manages to stare at Sam, without him being aware, which is nice sometimes, because Sam's never been too conscious about his looks. He used to being ognored, finally delegating that he was destined to be the smarter brother while Dean was the better-looking. To Dean... that has never been the case and he sees it right now more than he ever has before. His brother really is beautiful to him—inside and out.

Sam clears his throat, opening his eyes to flash them toward Dean. “... thank you.” It's more of an off-hand throwaway comment to make, but he says it so softly it packs a different meaning.

“What the hell for?” Dean drops his legs now, both feet on the floor as he slides to sit on the mattress, butting back against Sam.

“Bringing me back.” Sam takes his right arm out of hiding, then lays it along Dean's thighs. Like he's hugging him to his body. “I feel like I have so much— _clarity_.” He sinks lower on the bed, leaning his body and head toward Dean, on his right side.

“That was some pretty intense sex had.” Dean looks down at the arm, eying the dark hairs brushed in one direction. He pets them, then flips the limb over to notice the deep blue veins along the pale under-skin.

“What happened to that— _thing_...” Sam begins to curl his entire body around Dean's back, liking that Dean starts to entangle their fingers as Dean places his right palm over his hand. “—the glowing orb-y thing we created?”

“Apparently Cas and his MIB Angel Squad think it belongs with them so...” Dean rubs his left hand over his face, then gives a loose shrug. “... they took it.”

“What was it? Our combined _energy_?”

“Yes.” Dean nods his head once, then looks down. “I think it's what we made when we— _merged_.”

“Did we need it?” Sam averts his gaze, then glances at Dean. He assumes they don't because they're both here and seemingly normal.

“Maybe not. We're both still here with our souls intact.”

Sam starts soothing his thumb over Dean's skin, drawing his legs up now to run along Dean's outer left thigh. “Does that mean were weren't ' _split aparts_ '? We were _just_ Sam... and Dean?” He will not mind going back to simply being typical Winchesters—fucked-up and inexplicably drawn to one another.

“I believe the soul mate thing sticks, but maybe we're no longer **_as_** special.”

“That's a shame.”

“Isn't it?” Dean snorts out a stunted laugh, shaking his head at this whole craziness over the past few hours. “It really made the sex better... well, for me it did. I don't know about you.”

Sam slinks down to lay his head on his shoulder joint and upper biceps. “We can still have great sex.”

“I know, but...”

“But— _what_?” Sam's going to try not to take offense to Dean's tone or words.

Dean gives Sam such a look of “ _shut up, huh!_ ”, then clears his throat to be able to explain himself. “There was this moment when I lost you. I think it was when your soul entered my body and— _this seems stupid to say_ —I got a little envious. I had my ear to your chest and I could hear my own voice saying my own thoughts.”

“Funny—I don't remember them. Not off-hand.”

“I was thinking it had something to do with me being inside you—like we were plugged in.”

“—and all I got was Radio Dean?”

Dean laughs heartily, shaking his head. “If we had more time maybe I could've heard you through me...” He looks down at Sam's arm then hugs it to his body. “—call me crazy, but I wanted to hear your thoughts—feel that bliss you had on your face.”

“C'mere...” Sam fixes himself on the bed, scooting backward to sit straight as he takes his arm back as he moves over to the left. He wants Dean to lay next to him; the bed is big enough for them both.

“ _What_?” Dean knows exactly what Sam wants, but he's not sure either of them are ready to resume what they did prior to this moment.

“Now that we're alone, you can sit closer—touch me or kiss me—do _whatever_...”

Dean scoots near, leaning in to quickly peck lips with Sam and just as their mouths touch—they set off a blue spark...

“ ** _Ow!_** ” Dean actually feels his teeth clang and rattle.

Sam lays a hand over his mouth as it stings and vibrates. “ _Ow-ch! What'd you do?!_ ”

“Wait...” Dean extends a hand to reach out a finger and place it close to Sam's face... a little blue electrical wave pops out to bring them together. “ _oh, whoa..._ ” He snickers and lifts one side of his mouth in a quirky smile

“Explain it to me.” Sam softly laughs because it tickles and he hears a tiny crackle sound, but he can't tell what it is exactly. “I can't see it, Dean.”

“Take your finger, hold it over my skin.” Dean turns a cheek toward Sam. “You don't even have to touch me.”

Sam does and chuckles lightly. “ _oh, cool...”_ He claws out his five fingers then runs them down Dean's neck to collar bone. _“—_ this is like one of those mystic plasma crystal balls with those pink-ish streaks of electricity.”

“This has to mean _something_.”

“Think it means we were always _split aparts?_ Or we're simply full of too much energy now?”

“Well, the halves of the orb were inside of _both_ of us—maybe it left some residual side effects behind.”

“What does it feel like for you?”

“Tingly... a little warm...”

“Mine too.” Sam places his whole palm on Dean's cheek and though he flinches from the initial shock he almost feels comforted by the connection. “What do you feel now?”

“ _uhm... hmm..._ I feel a little woozy.” Dean blinks slow. “Like I'm drunk off you.”

Sam removes his hand, then lays on his pillow to point to his face. “Both hands. On my face— _Now!_ ”

Dean complies and Sam seems to absorb Dean's touch, letting it trickle down his body in a wave. “ _woo..._ what was _that_?”

“I think I absorbed you.” Sam felt it like a rush to his system as he's a bit out of whack and trying to match Dean's heart rate. “I can feel your heart—hear your blood rushing.” The blood in the veins sounded a lot like ocean waves.

“This is really trippy...” Dean sets down his hand, flat to the bed to hang over Sam. All he does is “fix” Sam's collar, but it tickles along Sam's chest like he's touching other parts of him. “—but I like it.”

“Lock the door.” Sam forces out as he shuts his eyes.

“Sam...” Dean is prepared to refuse if Sam thinks anything sexual is about to happen—well, anything done to lead to sex.

“Don't get prude on me.” Sam pushes Dean off his bed. “Besides... I'm not exactly at a point where I feel like having sex, but I'm not opposed to making out...” He goes back to relaxing on the raised portion of his bed, turning so he's on his right side and pulling back the covers to allow Dean a place to rest beside him. “—seeing what we can do to one another.”

“Are we keeping this a secret?” Dean has to know now because he knows he won't be telling anyone too soon; he'd rather keep this between them.

“For now, yes. We trust no one but each other. Once we know what we really are, then we'll see who we can trust.”

“Hey, Sammy...”

“Yeah?”

Dean makes a hand shaped in the form of a gun and he's close enough to actually send a blue spark at Sam in a fairly ticklish area.

“ _Ah-hahaha! No fair!_ ” Sam makes his gun a double-barrel (two fingers) and proceeds to “shoot” at Dean, catching him on a belt loop and his ass.

“ _Whoa! Cheater! I had my back turned!_ ”

“Never turn your back on a hunter, Dean... you _know_ that...”

Dean has to shake his head a little to get out of the slight fog, because he had said the same words to no-souled Sam. “Nope. Never.” He's going to have to get used to these instances, where Sam will remember bits and pieces of his full memory coming back. As long as it's Sam and no one else, Dean knows he can deal.

~~&&~~

From downstairs, Bobby can hear the thumping around on the floor like the boys are back to wrestling and roughhousing. He doesn't say anything to Gwen but he will if she happens to hear anything too. He stands at the double sink, washing the vegetables Gwen had picked out of her garden.

Every once-n-awhile he glances out the window to watch the skyline. At one point, he sees streaks of blue lighting cross his eyesight. He assumes a storm is brewing, so he doesn't know anything different. Gwen's searching for a huge stove pot to cook the soup in. Bobby keeps feeling like he needs to distract Gwen from her emotional state—keep her talking and make her laugh. He thinks she's pretty when she smiles and her laugh is contagious. He knows he's not going to be able to resist asking her out for much longer. He hasn't even gotten a read on what type of guy she goes for; he could be all wrong for her. He hopes she accepts and doesn't read too much into it.

He gets lonely all too often now and he's been itching to find a compatible female companion. He's not looking for sex or sexual fulfillment of any kind; he really wants the company and someone to talk who he can have a real conversation with. She's enough of a different woman all together from his wife and there's nothing about her that continues to remind him of his grief and loss.

Bobby has a feeling that even without asking, he already has the boy's approval; Dean might need some work, but Sam seems to have liked Gwen almost instantly. Bobby may have another name than Winchester, but he's always felt like an honorary member. He knew the boys wouldn't mind him feeling that way either, as he's been a surrogate father to both Sam and Dean.

God, he hopes they don't kill one another up there _... damn idgits..._ the thumping around has quieted, but the blue lighting hasn't stopped—now it's more of a glow in the air.

Bobby turns on the kitchen radio to wait for the weather report...

 **~*~the end**


End file.
